


The Song of the Heir

by ValynnicaStark, VelariaStark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, R Plus L Equals J, jonsa baby, smut bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValynnicaStark/pseuds/ValynnicaStark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelariaStark/pseuds/VelariaStark
Summary: Jon and Sansa unite the Northern houses after taking back Winterfell while dealing with conflicting emotions. Meanwhile, a Targaryen Queen arrives in Dragonstone and demands an audience with the King in the North. The North devises a plan in order to make the Mother of Dragons help in the upcoming war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to our fix up of season 7 and 8 of Game of Thrones! Velaria and I were at work talking crazy on how we could have written a better script and within 10 minutes we decided that we were gonna go ahead and write fanfiction and so here we are a month later finally posting! We have put a lot of thought into writing our story line and have spent so much time writing and editing, it's our first work ever so we are pretty nervous. Leave us some comments! We hope you enjoy as much as we have enjoyed putting this together!
> 
> -Valynnica

_In...out…in…_

Everything was still. It was finally over. They had won.

_...out...in..._

The sudden cheers of the men filled Jon’s ears, but it all sounded distorted. The only thing he could hear was his own harsh breathing. Despite their victory, Jon didn’t feel joyful. The chill that had spread over him at the beginning of the battle hadn’t left yet. 

_We’re alive...we won the battle...Winterfell is in the hands of the Starks again. But there aren’t many Starks left now are there? Just one. Sansa. I’m nothing more than a bastard. A Snow._

Bringing Ramsay to his feet, a few northern men approached Jon, awaiting his orders on how to handle the new prisoner. 

“Take him to the kennels and lock him in a cage. Lady Sansa and I will discuss what to do about him once we’ve had the opportunity to settle down.” 

“Ah my beautiful Wife Sansa, do you think she’ll come visit me? Mayhaps she’ll grant me a kiss goodbye?” Laughing, Ramsay made sure to look Jon in the eyes before being dragged away, knowing it was the only way to continue taunting him.

Clenching his fists, Jon tried to hold back his anger about the comment. How dare that bastard speak about Sansa that way to him. He should have killed him right then. Glaring after him as the men took Ramsay away, Jon decided to take this moment for himself and finally take in everything around him. The entire grounds were in ruins. Some of the stairs leading up to the ramparts were even torn in half. 

As he began to walk, he noticed the men taking down the flayed man banners, replacing them with direwolf ones. 

_I never thought I would see the House Stark sigil overlooking Winterfell again. I never thought I would be_ **_in_ ** _Winterfell again._

Trying to avoid anyone so soon after, he took a back pathway, walking along the armory. He remembered his first time in there, where he and Robb picked up their first swords, though neither of them knew how to wield them just yet. They would have almost impaled themselves had their father not walked in on them trying to practice sword fighting. 

Emerging on the other side, Jon found himself in the courtyard. Looking past the debri, he could almost see the Master of Arms, Ser Rodrik, trying to teach Robb and him how to hold a sword properly, where to place their feet and just how much weight would be needed when swinging. 

_I remember father used to watch us, making sure we behaved and didn’t embarrass him as Lord of Winterfell. He would stand at the top of the ramparts overlooking the courtyard whenever Robb and I would train. He didn’t look on as much as we got older, not until Bran started to train as well._

Smiling to himself, Jon recalls the day Robb was showing Bran how to shoot an arrow, stifling his laughter each time their little brother missed. The look on their faces when Arya shot a perfect dead center, making sure to curtsy before running off was priceless. Jon had felt pride that day, knowing their secret training sessions were paying off. 

_I can’t even imagine what father would have done, had he found out exactly how Arya had gotten so good so quickly._

Lost in the memory, he looked up, finding himself in front of the Great Hall. He hadn’t even known he was heading that way until he saw the entrance. Feeling the need to go in, he leisurely walked into the building. 

Making his way down the cold corridors, Jon noticed just how much everything had changed since he last was there. 

_It’s so quiet. As if just housing the Bolton family sucked all the life out of the place._

Finding himself outside the main dining hall, he remembered the many gatherings and celebrations that occurred here. 

_I remember through the years, when I was even allowed to step foot in here, it was never this silent. And never a dull moment._

As he gazed around the room, he sees the biggest table at the very center of it. Making his way toward it, he thinks of all the times he saw his family sit there, enjoying everything, while he was forced to sit at a table furthest away. Catelyn never wanted to be reminded that he existed in times of celebration. 

As Jon stepped behind the chair in the center of the table, the one his father used to sit in, he leaned over it, letting himself finally rest. Closing his eyes, the memories flood Jon’s vision, clouding out everything else. 

**

_All the Lords in the North had come upon the request of the Warden of the North. It was a time of celebration. Catelyn Stark, wife of Eddard Stark, had just given birth to another son and wanted to present him to the northern lords._

_Everyone was crowded in the hall, waiting for Maester Luwin to announce the little bundle in Catelyn’s arms. The Stark children, were all lined up next to their mother and father._

_Robb, standing like the proper lord he was expected to be. Sansa, behind him, dressed up like the princess she wished she was. Bran and Arya, swatting away at each other until their mother scolded them to behave._

_Jon was in the corner at the back of the room, trying to blend in with the rest of the crowd. Even at the age of twelve, he knew where his place was in Winterfell. Catelyn never forgot to remind him of it._

_“Lords and Ladies of the North. I present to you, Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell. We gather here today to celebrate the birth of their boy, Rickon Stark, named for his late grandfather Rickard Stark.”_

_The cheers and praises that erupted from the crowd was so loud, all for a small babe, who was so fast asleep, he didn’t even wake to it._

_Jon’s father looked so happy then, the only thing on his mind was the life of his new son...his legitimate son. Another heir, another reminder that he wasn’t apart of the family as he should have been._

_As the day carried on, everyone kept speaking about how blessed the Starks were to have such five beautiful children. One woman even commented on how blessed they were despite the fact that Ned had a bastard roaming around their home._

_None of the people had thought to be considerate of what they said, not knowing Jon would be hovering nearby, overhearing all of this. Of the shame he supposedly brought to the great House Stark._

_After a few of these incidents, he stopped attending most of the celebrations. Instead Jon spent most of his time training on his own, hoping to become better at wielding every weapon he held in hopes of someday joining the Night's Watch, like his uncle Benjen._

_**_

Opening his eyes, Jon’s vision was blurred by the tears pooling in them. He never dwelled on his past too much, thinking he had put it behind him when he took the black. Being back here brought all of his undeserved pain. The memory of being told he was only a bastard. 

The Starks had ruled over the North for so long, before it was taken from them. Now that it was free again, Jon couldn’t help but feel a sudden sense of grief, knowing his family would have been proud of what he had done for them.

_I’m so sorry father, I never should have left. Maybe if I had stayed in Winterfell, it wouldn’t have been taken from us. The boys never would have been forced to leave. Rickon might even still be alive._

Letting all his grief come to the surface, Jon only prays his family could hear his pleas of forgiveness.

_I’m sorry Robb, for making you take on all the responsibility of keeping Winterfell together. If I had been here, I could have helped you, saved you from doing it all alone._

Reluctant to go on, Jon forced himself to say his final plea. Knowing it was useless before, he hopes that in death, it might mean something.

_Catelyn, forgive me. I know you never loved me. Even wished me gone. Perhaps if I had been here, held some of the burden, we could have come to an understanding. I could have earned your respect even._

Gripping the chair harder with each confession, Jon felt some of the guilt he had been carrying lift from his shoulders. 

_Even though I wasn’t here when you needed me, I hope you know, I did this for each of you. I have avenged all of your deaths. And I will continue to do so, until my last day._

Drowned in his thoughts, Jon didn’t hear the soft footsteps echoing in the room until a voice called out his name. “Jon.” 

Looking up, he saw Sansa walking towards him. Closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, not caring how much of a mess he was. Holding onto her just as hard, Jon took this moment, to finally regain himself. 

He was grateful to the Gods for having survived. He didn’t even want to think about what might have happened had he died, leaving Sansa alone. Opening his eyes, he only then realizes just how covered in blood and mud he is. 

“Sansa, it may be a little late to say, but I’m covered in filth. I don’t want you to get dirty.”

Pulling back only a little, she smiled softly at him. “Jon, I don’t care to get a little dirty. All that matters is that we won the battle. It’s over.” 

“Yes it is. We have our home back, filth and all”, he chuckled, “Although, I would prefer to be less bloody, and sticky for that matter.”

Letting go, Sansa stepped back to glance at Jon fully. Slightly pursing her lips, “I see what you mean. Well then, go and get cleaned up.” Making their way towards the door, she grasps Jon’s hand. “I can meet you in a little while so that we can bury our brother properly. I have a few matters to attend to.”

“What matters?” Jon asks, although he knew exactly what.. 

As her face hardened, Sansa replied truthfully, “I need to let the cooks know that we are having a feast tonight, to honor the people who died in battle and also to praise the freedom of the North.” Seeing as Jon looked at her, waiting for her to continue, she added the part she knew he really wanted to hear. “After, I am going to visit our new prisoner.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Jon timidly asked, “It wouldn’t take me long to get cleaned up.” 

Lightly squeezing his hand, “No Jon, I have to do this by myself. After everything he has done, it has to be me who does this.” Leaning in, Sansa chastely kissed his cheek. “I will see you after. I am going to give my _dear husband_ all that he deserves.” 

Letting go of his hand, Sansa walked out the door, leaving him alone again. Jon stood there, considering following her to ensure nothing would happen while she went to see Ramsay. 

After a thought, he decided to just do as she had told him, to go bathe and change into something respectable. It was after all, going to be a long night. 

**********

Dismissing the handmaid, Jon settled into the tub, cherishing the hot water. His muscles had begun to relax. He hadn’t had a bath like this since before he took the Black. Being a watcher on the wall, he never could really stay too long in the fresher. Especially since he was always butting heads with the other men, who felt they shouldn’t even be there. 

Although Jon’s body had relaxed, his mind made no such indication that it would follow anytime soon. It kept wandering to the events that were to come later that evening. 

_I have to handle this. If the Lords were reluctant to join us before this battle, I am almost certain they will refuse to do so now. The last male heir for the Starks is gone. They would never pledge to a woman, let alone a bastard._

Sinking deeper into the tub, Jon goes until only his nose and eyes are above the surface. Closing his eyes, he lets all his thoughts flow freely, hoping he can come up with a solution that would benefit everyone.

_The Northern men were pledged to my father before all of this. He was honorable, courageous, and true to his word. After, they named Robb, King in the North. He was brave, daring, and took every problem head on, never showing how much it affected him on his face. They had been raised to be future Lords, trained to fight in battle properly and knew what they were doing when the responsibility fell on their laps._

Gripping the sides of the tub until the skin on his knuckles grew so strained, to the point it was too painful to let go, Jon let his deepest fear take hold of him.

_I will never live up to who they were. Being raised amongst nobles, I was still a bastard. I was raised to do as I was told, not to tell others what to do. To one day, either leave for good, or take the Black, although those were almost the same options._

Letting his head sink all the way under, he tried to make himself focus on the problem at hand, not the past. 

_How am I going to convince the rest of the northern lords that we need to stand together again? That the Boltons are not the worst thing we could face? That the Night King is on his way, with an army that’s growing everyday? To follow me, hoping we make it through this alive?_

Resurfacing, gasping for air, Jon realizes the water has grown cold. He quickly finishes his bath. Getting out, he dries off and chooses his outfit that best fits for that night.

As he fastens the clasps on his cloak and making sure to grab Longclaw, only one question clouds his mind on his way out. 

_What am I going to do?_

**********

Two. 

Two brothers. One father. 

That is how many of the Starks Jon has now lost. As far as he knew. No one knows where his other siblings may be. Or if they are even still alive. It’s just him and Sansa now. 

Walking back from the crypts, feeling tense and even more stressed, Jon can’t even begin to make out all his concerns. 

“How are we supposed to bring Winterfell back to its former glory?” Jon exasperates. “It’s not as if either you nor I have any training at all about how to lead the North.” 

“Jon, calm down. You led most of the northern Lords in battle, and we won. I think that we will be fine in running the North.” Sansa said, trying to reassure him. 

Stopping in place, Jon turns to her, “Sansa, we didn’t win the battle. You won the battle for us. Had it not been for your message to Littefinger, the Knights of the Vale never would have came. If not for you, we would have been slaughtered.” As his voice grows thick, Jon looks down, not wanting Sansa to see the raw emotion he can’t hide anymore.

“The Lords only followed me because they were tired of the Boltons ruling over the North. They needed someone to rally behind who could help them get their home back. With no male heir left, do you honestly believe they would really listen to either of us?” 

Putting her hands on his shoulders, “Jon look at me.” As he lifted his head, Sansa spoke as clearly as she could. “There is a reason the Lords decided to rally behind you. There is a reason they chose you to lead them in battle. You are brave, you are smart, and you know how to make people listen. They chose you, because in their darkest moments, you gave them what they needed: a chance.”

“You gave them the chance to reclaim everything they had lost. You told them you would give them their homes back, and you have done exactly that. You may not have the title, but you will always be a Stark in the eyes of those who matter. I just wish you could see just how amazing you truly are too.”

As his tears finally slide down his face, Jon grasped onto Sansa, leaning his head into her shoulder. He didn’t think there was anyone left he could tell his fears to. 

“Sansa, I am afraid. If the Lords choose me to lead them, how do I know I won’t ruin it? What if we lose our home again? I don’t know if I can handle holding all these lives in my hands.”

“If they choose you Jon, you won’t be doing this on your own. You have me here, by your side. You forget that I watched father and my mother rule over Winterfell. I watched many lords and ladies lead. Even my time in King’s Landing taught me a few things.”

Closing her eyes, swallowing down her own fears, Sansa continued, “If nothing goes the way it is supposed to, we take the blame together. We fail together. Neither of us are alone in this Jon. We only have each other now. I have faith we can do this.”

Taking a deep breath, Jon lets her go, realizing she is right. He isn’t alone in this. Her experience by watching and observing close up, did teach her enough of what they need to know about ruling over Winterfell. 

Even if they fail in this, they fail together. Maybe they can do it. Now all they had to do was convince the Northern Lords to believe it too.

Giving her a small acknowledgement that he was ready to leave, both Jon and Sansa continue walking, heading towards the feast they promised to hold.

**********

The Hall was full to capacity. All the tables were crowded, to the point where even some of the nearby walls were holding up their guests. As Jon and Sansa walked in, most of the chatter died down. All eyes were on them as they made their way to the main table. 

As he sat down, he glanced across the room at everyone. Jon could feel the tension in the crowd. Not only of the anticipation of the long needed talk about what to do now, but the tension between the Northerners and the Wildings. The mistrust of each other could be seen in how they divided they sat. 

Glancing at Sansa one last time, Jon addressed everyone. 

“I know everyone has been waiting patiently for tonight’s discussion. I want to thank you all for being with my sister and I, while we buried our brother. And for staying to come and honor the brave men we lost in ba-” .

“Enough with the formalities boy,” one of the lords interrupted, “Get on to what we really all came to hear.”

“Very well my Lord, I can acknowledge our fallen brothers later.” Looking around the room, “My Lords, I asked each of you here today, not only to commemorate our victory in the North, but to tell you of a problem we have been preparing for since I can last remember. Winter is here. But it is not the only thing coming for us.”

“During my time beyond the wall, I faced an enemy that we all thought had been gone for thousands of years. An enemy that can’t be killed like any we are use to. One that doesn’t stop just because it has been cut down. The Night king is coming, and with him, an army of the dead.”

The room was silent as everyone looked at each other, doubt clouding their minds. The White Walkers were gone, had been for generations. Surely, Jon Snow was speaking madness. 

“It’s true. We fought them at hardhome, and because of them, we lost many of our own people.” Tormund explained as he got up, walking to the center of the room. “Had it not been for Jon Snow, we might not have made it out of there alive. Us wildlings have been fighting the wights while you southerners stayed safe behind the wall. But now, there is nowhere left to go.”

“Lies! The wildlings use legends as an excuse to come and raid our homes! Why should we believe anything they have to say?” Cried out Lord Glover. “The North I remember, executed any wildling we found south of the wall. Now, because of Jon Snow, they think they can just invade our lands and not be punished. What would your father have thought?”

“I don’t think my father would care about the conflict between the Northerners and the wildlings. He would have cared about the safety of everyone in this room and outside these walls!” Standing, Jon felt the weight of everyone’s decision fall into his next words. “I’m not asking for any of you to forget our dislike of one another. I’m asking that we each put aside our differences, and look at a problem much bigger than any of us.”

“The Night King has an army of thousands, and he does not plan on stopping at the wall. He will come here to the North and continue heading south, killing every living thing in his path. All of our dead, coming back to serve him.” As he continues, Jon notices a change in the mood. Fear has taken over the anger. “But he doesn’t have to make it that far. If we all join together, maybe we could stop him, before he even reaches the wall.”

“My lords, I am asking for you to consider everything. Will you put aside all of our differences, and help us to face the war against the White Walkers? If not for us, for your children, and their children? If we don’t do this, if we can’t stop him, then everything we know, will end with us.”

No one says a word or makes a move. As the tension rises, everyone glances at each other, uncertain of what to do, until a chair scrapes across the floor.

“House Mormont will join you Jon Snow.” Lady Mormont says. “House Mormont will always stand with House Stark. Because we remember what the North has failed to. The Starks have always had the best interest for the people of the North and Jon Snow has done his part in upholding this legacy.” Looking to a few of the lords who had spoken out, “Lord Manderly, when Jon Snow called for your aid in the coming battle against Ramsay, you refused to answer. Allowing your fear of following another Stark to another bloody end cloud your judgement.”

No one uttered a word as Lyanna Mormont continued. “Lord Glover, when Jon Snow came to you in his time of need, you refused to help. Instead, you let your anger towards Robb Stark and the hatred towards Wildings come in the way of your sworn fealty.”

“Wildlings that joined Jon in the battlefield against Ramsay to fight for _our_ homes while you Lords sat in your castles doing nothing. With the help of them, House Bolton is no more.” Looking towards Jon now, Lyanna spoke louder. “When our King in the North was slaughtered, Roose Bolton and his son took the North in their clutches and stripped us to nothing, murdering everyone we knew to keep us in line. But because of Jon Snow, we have our homes back. He may be a bastard, but he has the blood of Starks running through his veins and House Mormont knows no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark.”

As she sits down, the crowd stares, waiting for what the rest of the houses will do. Holding their breaths as Lord Manderly finally stands.

“Everything Lady Mormont has said is true. My son died for Robb Stark. I didn’t want anyone else dying for nothing, or fighting for a man I didn’t believe in to actually win. For this, I was wrong and will live with the guilt of it until my last day.” Brandishing his sword and kneeling, “Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding for all of us. He is the White Wolf, the King in the North!”

Lord Glover stands and walks beside Lord Manderly. “I didn’t stand beside you as I should have. But in asking for forgiveness of my mistake, I pledge House Glover to stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years.”

“There is nothing to forgive my Lord.” Jon said as he looked between both of the Lords.

“House Glover will stand behind House Stark, as I will stand behind Jon Snow, the King in the North!” Lord Glover cries out as he too takes out his sword and kneels. 

The rest of the Northern men, even the free folk, join in on cheering for their true King in the North. Waving their swords in the air, Jon looks at Sansa, uncertain of what to say. Slowly nodding her head, it dawns on him what to do. Taking out Longclaw, he thrusts it into the air along with everyone else. 

The crowd is filled with excitement. Their hope returning to them after a harsh battle, bringing more reason for a feast to occur. As servants and cooks bring out the food, a buzzing fills the air in the room, making everything lighter. 

Letting the festivities take place, Jon settles back into his chair, mingling with the small crowd of friends who had gathered around the table. 

“King in the North. You seem to have a liking for high titles, Little Crow.” Tormund says as he playfully smacks Jon on the back, surprising him.

“They just keep giving them to me. Let's just hope King is the highest they can think of.” Jon jokingly says, drawing laughs from all around.

“Well then, a toast to the new King.” Tormund holds up his horn, filled with goat’s milk no doubt. After taking a large gulp, he thrusts it at Jon. “A real drink, if you think you can handle one.”

Looking over the rim of it at everyone, he catches Sansa’s eye, smiling, waiting for him to take his turn in toasting. 

“To new alliances.” Tilting the horn, he starts to take big gulps, trying to keep up with the liquid quickly running down the end. Sputtering out the last of it, drops rain down his cloak, causing an eruption of laughter to ring from the crowd. 

“Perhaps the Lady of Winterfell wants to partake in the festivities? A mug of ale, to go easy on you.” One of the men say, handing Sansa a mug full to the brim of ale. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jon said, reaching for the mug, missing by a few inches. It seemed the drink Tormund had given him was already starting to take effect.

“It’s okay Jon. It isn’t the first time I have had ale before you know.” Bringing it to her mouth, Sansa begins to gulp the drink, never spilling it until she reaches the bottom. Smacking her lips and slightly grimacing, “Though the taste is something I don’t think I will ever get used to.”

Surprising everyone with her newfound skill, cheers and laughter go around the table, for the Lady of Winterfell. As the night carries on, the conversations ease back into the normal celebratory lull. 

Basking in the lightness he feels, Jon takes a look around at all the faces in the room. Lords and ladies dancing, men laughing and joking. The free folk and the Northmen sharing stories. All because of him. Searching until he finds the face he is looking for, Jon admires Sansa from a distance. 

He didn’t think he could do it without her. Getting up, he slowly makes his way to her, being careful of his steps. Stopping beside her, he turns to the room before speaking to her.

“Just like when we were younger, isn’t it?” 

Looking to him, she smiles, “Almost like how we were younger. But I think it is better than how it use to be. For one, we weren’t allowed to have that much ale in one sitting.”

Laughing a little too hard, Jon nudges her shoulder with his. “No, we weren’t. You’re right though, it is better. I just wanted to say thank you Sansa, for believing in me. The North isn’t entirely back to how it used to be, but I think it will become more than what it was.”

Lightly patting his arm, Sansa’s smile widens, her eyes a little glassy from all the ale they had been drinking. “It was all you Jon. Like I said, you know how to make people listen. I never doubted you for one second.” 

As they look at one another, Jon sheepily looks down before glancing back into her eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin. After a moment, they walk to one of the tables with the most people and continue to bask in the joys of the night.

With more drinks being had, the night began to pass in a haze. Sitting there, enjoying the bliss, Jon’s mind began to wander. He couldn’t help but notice the way Sansa grabbed onto his shoulder to steady herself from laughing every time someone told a good joke, looking to him to make sure that he had heard it too. The way she made him laugh when she would add her own comments on it.

The way his stomach would clench every time she got close to his ear to whisper in it. The warmth of her breath on his cheek, tickling his skin, causing chills to run down his back. The slight tingling sensation he felt when her hand grazed over his during a story of how one of the men met his wife, and now had a newborn babe. With hooded eyes, Jon leaned closer to her, feeling a warmth spread over his body. 

Before he could speak or even get close enough, a loud crash stopped him in his place. Sitting up and clearing his throat, Jon looked behind him to find that one of the maidens had dropped a refill jug of ale, the broken pieces and liquid pooling on the ground. Peering back to the people at the table, Jon realized that only a few remained, the rest already having left for the spare rooms. 

Deciding it sounded like a good idea, he excused himself to his chambers, offering Sansa an escort to her own. Agreeing, they both set out down the halls, stammering and having a hard time keeping their balance. Finally grabbing onto his arm, Sansa slowed her pace to keep steady, though she held her other hand out to make her balance even.

“Just how much did you drink tonight?” Jon asked, wincing at how hard her grip was, and seeing she had tripped over her foot again.

Looking straight ahead to watch her steps, “I only had as much as any of the rest of you did. And maybe the leftover from what was in Tormund’s horn.”

Sighing, Jon bit his tongue, keeping his remark to himself. He just hoped he was awake enough the next day so he could talk to Tormund about giving Sansa his drink. Even if it wasn’t her first time having anything, he didn’t think it was a good idea to give her something so strong, especially of how fast it had affected him.

Reaching the door to her solais, Jon opened the door, ushering a giggling Sansa in. Stopping in front of him, she suddenly threw her arms around him, hard enough that he hit the entry to the room. Confused, he gingerly wraps his around her back.

“I am so proud of you Jon. I just want you to know this.” Sansa pulls back, smiling, “I love you so much.” 

Before he can reply, her eyes widen. Letting go, face turning red, Sansa steps into her chambers. Telling Jon goodnight, she closes the door, too fast, catching her dress. Fumbling, she reopened and closed it, leaving him just as confused. Slowly turning, rubbing the back of his neck, he walks towards his own chambers, ignoring the pounding of his heart. Maybe the drink Tormund had was stronger than he had originally thought. 

**********

Undoing the last strings on her corset, Sansa finally peels off her dress. Removing the rest of her small clothes, throwing on a sleeping gown, she sits in her chair and starts to undo her braids.

_I can’t believe I drank so much tonight. Celebration or not, it wasn’t my smartest decision._

Thinking back to what happened that evening, Sansa recalls how at least there were no bad incidents. Everyone had gotten along better after declaring Jon the King in the North. All the rivalries forgotten. Jon had done it, just like she had told him he could.

_He knows how to make people listen to him. He truly is a wonderful man._

Finishing, she picked up her brush. Losing herself in her thoughts, she thinks about how close she and Jon had gotten since being reunited. Growing up, they were so distant, but when she got to Castle Black, it was like they started over. 

_He protected me, just as he promised he would. Ramsay will never hurt anyone again thanks to Jon. No one will ever hurt me again._

Running the brush through one last time, Sansa gets up, walking to the fire. She gazes at the flames, thinking of how much everything has changed. She is back home, safe, and with people she knows. People she loves. 

Love.

_Why did I freak out about telling Jon I love him? Of course I do. He is my brother. It didn’t mean anything more than that...right?_

Shaking her head, hoping it’s all of the ale speaking tonight, she goes to her bed and lays down. Maybe a good night’s rest would clear her head by morning. Closing her eyes, she lets herself succumb to her dreams. 

**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, but here we are a week later with new content. Life is going crazy right now, as Valynnica is going on vacation this upcoming week, and I the following. So we will try to get the next chapter posted as soon as possible. We worked very hard on this, so I hope you enjoy it just as much as the last chapter, or even more!
> 
> -Vela

_I’ll never understand how father made it seem so easy. Pleasing the lords was about as simple as swimming across River Run at night. It was practically impossible._

Jon would know, seeing as he once attempted to on a dare from Robb when they were visiting his half-siblings's uncle Edmure one year. He had thought he would die after getting caught in the current, but only ended up with a horrible cold. Lost in the memory of how angry his father was with him while their uncle Benjen boasted of his own attempt, Jon doesn’t realize he is smiling fondly until a loud voice cuts his ears.

“I don’t understand what is so amusing to you at the moment, _Your Grace,_ seeing as we are discussing the ongoing ransacks occurring throughout my village.” Jon met eyes with one of the few Lords who although bent the knee and sworn his allegiance towards him, still fought him with every decision he made. “I remember coming alongside my father as a boy when he needed to bring forth his issues. It seemed _your father_ took every situation seriously and found a solution best fitting. Appears as if now however, House Stark runs things a bit differently.” 

Before Jon could respond, a sharp voice spoke up, practically calling the attention of all the room.

“Do you know what I find amusing Lord Cerwyn? The fact that you believe handling petty thieves outweighs more serious problems such as food shortage and weaponry.” Sansa's voice rang out, silencing the chatter that had been making it difficult to hear. Lord Cerwyn, fidgeted under her gaze, too afraid to speak. “The next time you bring forth any issues, I highly suggest that you remember that you are speaking to your King, and remember the mannerisms with which you were brought up with.”

The room was silent, as all eyes turned to the lord of House Cerwyn waiting for his response to being chastised by the Lady of Winterfell. Even his own men stepped away, not wanting to be involved in the heated tension surrounding the both of them. To much surprise, Lord Cerwyn kept his mouth shut, waiting for Sansa to continue. 

“Now, to address your earlier comment of finding a ‘solution best fitting’, the simplest answer would be for House Stark to send two patrolmen, and hope that the ones committing these crimes be stopped. I surely hope that this solution will be to your satisfaction.”

“Yes my Lady, my sincerest apologies. That would be greatly beneficial.” Turning his attention back to Jon, with a bit of wounded pride, “Your Grace, please forgive me for my unnecessary outburst. Trying to rebuild a kingdom from the ground up has it trials, as I’m sure you know well enough, with having taken back the North. Thank you for hearing my plea and the generous addition for patrol.” 

With a curt nod, Lord Cerwyn and his few men retreated from the room, bypassing all the pitiful stares of the rest of the Lords. It seemed to be Cerwyn’s own unfortunate luck to have to be used as an example on how not to speak to the King in the North, especially in the presence of the Lady of Winterfell. May the Gods help those who face the sharpness of her tongue.

Jon looked sideways at Sansa, meeting her icy glare. She held his gaze for a moment before giving him the floor again to treat with his supplicants. He knew she was still irritated from their earlier spout, but now wasn’t the time to try to mend it. Turning his attention back to the matters at hand, he addressed the next person.

**********

“I don’t know why you’re so upset Jon.” Sansa said, walking after him. “The Lords need to be shown what happens to those who oppose us.” 

Stopping suddenly, Jon turned on her. “I understand that the men need to be shown a firm hand. But that doesn’t mean humiliating them and treating them like the enemy. You went too far.”

“Too far? I don’t think you went far enough. Letting the Karstarks and Umbers keep their hold on everything even after they sided with the Boltons? Letting Lord Cerwyn speak to you like that in front of everyone?”

“If you had given me the chance to speak, you would have seen that I wouldn’t have let Lord Cerwyn do that without consequence.” Turning back around, Jon continued walking. “And as for the Karstarks and Umbers, I won’t punish them. I thought that as someone who was punished for actions our father didn’t even commit, you’d understand.”

Stopping at the railings, Jon peered down at the people working below. Sidling up next to him, Sansa held her tongue, not really knowing what to say. Letting the silence draw out, it was a few moments before either of them spoke.

“You’re right. I shouldn't have said what I said. It wasn’t Alys’ or Ned’s fault their fathers followed the Bolton’s.”

“No one said this would be easy. It’s going to be hard for them and us as well. So many things have changed in such a short time. I am just trying to be fair with them.” Letting out a frustrated breath, Jon finally looked at her. “But I can’t have you undermining my decisions Sansa. Especially not in front of everyone.”

“I wasn’t trying to undermine you Jon. I only wanted to put in my thoughts about things.” She spat out as she began walking away. “But fine, I won’t question you again then.”

Clenching his jaw, Jon started after her. Catching up to her, he grabbed her arm to turn her back towards him.

“I’m not saying you can’t question me. I’m just asking that when you do, don’t do it in a way that makes it seem as if I have no authority in the matter.”

Shrugging him off, Sansa stepped back to the railing. She hated being handled like a child. It made her feel weak. “Okay, I’ll learn to voice my opinions in a different way. We could begin to meet in private afterwards, if you want to, to discuss thoughts and then bring them forth at the next gathering.”

“That’s a good idea Sansa. I like it.”

As they both averted their gaze from the other, each felt the air growing heavy. They hardly ever argued. Lately though, it seemed as if there was something barring between them, making all their conversations turn sour. 

Trying to lighten the mood, Sansa inclined her head toward Jon, softly smiling. “You’re good at this you know.”

“At what?” He asked without turning to her. 

“At ruling.” 

Regarding her skeptically Jon scoffed and rolled his eyes before turning back to the view below.

“You are. But you h-..” Cutting off as Jon began to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Father use to always say that anything before the word ‘but’ is horse shit.”

Burrowing her brow, “Father never used to tell me that?”

“No, he never cursed in front of his girls. I guess he saved that part for just us boys.”

Tentatively reaching for his hand, Sansa firmly grasped it. “Jon you’re doing well so far. Father and Robb did too when they ruled over the North at one point.” She waited until he turned back to her to continue. “I loved them and I miss them everyday. But their mistakes are something you can’t make. They didn’t listen to the people around them, and it cost them everything because of it. You have to be smarter than they were.”

Staring down at their hands, Jon knows she is right. Lifting his head, eyes meeting hers, his voice strained at his next retort.

‘’How am I supposed to be smarter then? By listening to you?”

Softly biting her lip before replying, Sansa’s cheeks to flush a light pink “Would that really be such a horrible thing to do?”

Holding each other’s gaze, neither speak. A warm feeling started to pool into Jon, getting hotter the longer he stared at her. He noticed the pupils of her eyes starting to get wide. His chest started to constrict as his breathing picked up. His eyes traveled down to her mouth, which was parted slightly. 

Too caught up to notice the approaching footsteps, they both jumped as a voice spoke from behind them. Sansa swiftly let go, straightening, her skin flushed down to her neck.

“A raven has arrived Your Grace. From King’s Landing.” 

His pulse still beating hard, Jon reached for the scroll in the Maester Wolkan's outstretched hand, his own still burning from Sansa’s touch. As Maester Wolkan departed, Jon hoped that he didn’t notice anything unusual. Unraveling the message, he cleared his throat and calmly read to himself what was written, Sansa peering over his arm.

“Who is it from?”

“It says ‘Cersei of House Lannister, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” He numbly replied, handing it to her to read for herself. “She wants me to come down to King’s Landing to bend the knee.”

“Another enemy to add to the list. You were so caught up in the Night King, you forgot that we still have enemies all around who want us dead.” She said, giving the paper back, as if it offended her.

Crumbling the parchment in his hand, Jon went to walk through the ramparts again, Sansa alongside him. Making their way through one of the underpasses, they stop on one of the ridges overlooking the forest beyond the castle. 

“I don’t really care about any of our enemies around us except for the Night King. I’ve seen him and what he can do.” Jon said, continuing where they left off. “If he gets to us, it won’t matter that we have all been at each other’s throats. He’ll win in the end.”

“We need to start devising a plan with all the other lords and seeing how many houses can contribute to help us win this war now. If we all live, then I’ll deal with Cersei after.”

“I lived with Cersei, Jon. I know her.” Sansa said. “She isn’t going to stop just because you’re at war with the White Walkers, something she probably doesn’t even believe in. Anyone who has ever crossed her has come to their end.”

“There is a thousand miles between us and Cersei.” Jon replied. “Even if they did make it here in time, the Lannister army isn’t made to travel in these kinds of weather conditions . They wouldn’t make it past the Vale.”

“It has never stopped them before.” Looking out past the trees, Sansa’s face grew with worry. She knows Cersei and the way she thinks. There was no chance she would let something like this go, especially now that she had something more important to her to lose than her children: power. 

**********

The people always looked so small from this high up. Even midday, when the streets were the most crowded, they all looked like ants. 

Walking away from the balcony, Cersei reached for the jug on the nearby table, pouring herself another glass of wine. Crossing her arms and taking a sip, she thought back to the first time she looked over the people after becoming queen. 

_It was such a long time ago. My marriage turning out to be a sham, what with Robert constantly whoring around. There wasn’t much to do but stay in my chambers or walk through the garden._

Chuckling to herself, she thought about how much time she spent trying to amuse herself before she had her children. Now it was time to do it again, by herself.

Hearing a knock at the door, Cersei turned to see Qyburn poking his head through.

“Your Grace. I have updates on a few matters we discussed in our last talk.” 

“Good. Have a seat. We can discuss them here.” She said, gesturing to the table, “So tell me, what news do you have?” 

Clearing his throat, “Our scouts have sent word that Daenerys Targaryen should be arriving within two weeks time. Based on the maps of the Seven Kingdoms, her most predicted place of arrival would be Dragonstone.” 

Mulling over the information, Cersei knows it isn’t that far from King’s Landing. Just across Blackwater Bay. It wouldn’t take long for the dragon whore to get here from there, especially by dragon. “How fares your work on the Scorpion? We’ll need them when she decides to reign fire on King’s Landing.”  
  
“We are in the finishing stages and shall be ready to test soon.”  
  
“Good. I want to be present for such demonstration. And what news of our Northerner **friends**? Any ravens?”

“No, Your Grace. It seems that the fellow Jon Snow and Sansa Stark have inspired the North to rebel against the crown. They proclaimed Jon Snow their King in the North and Sansa has been titled the Lady of Winterfell.”

Narrowing her eyes and gripping the wine glass harder before setting it down, “That little wolf bitch and her mutt brother. Another rebellion that will be a waste of time for both sides.” Dipping the tip of her finger into the liquid, Cersei draws circles around the rim of her cup. “Very well. If they choose to rebel, let them. We will show the other houses what happens to those who oppose the crown. A traitor’s end.” 

**********

Turning for the fourth time since she laid down, Sansa rolled onto her back, gazing up at the ceiling. Sleeping was always such a difficult task for her. Ever since her time in King's Landing, she grew accustomed to keeping one eye open and listening for any sound that shouldn’t be there. It had grown even worse when Littlefinger took her away. After realizing his intentions for her, she couldn’t bear to leave her guard down at any time. 

It was only when Ramsay finally got a hold of her, did she stop sleeping all together. He would constantly keep her up with his cruelty for hours, days at a time, wanting to see how far her limit could go until she begged him to stop. She supposed that habits never did break that easily. Even after the threats had gone. 

The only moments she got to herself that weren’t entirely horrible were the morning times. Watching the sun rise from the room she was locked in was one of the few things she had for herself. 

_Perhaps it is time to turn those few moments of delicacy into something more. Into something I can fully enjoy without consequence._

Climbing out of bed, Sansa began to dress herself, a simple outfit seeing as all the handmaidens were likely to still be sleeping. Stepping out into the hall, she made her way to the ramparts.

**

Pulling her cloak tighter around her, the only sound Sansa could hear was the crunching of snow under her feet. It was still early, seeing as no one was around yet. 

_I can only vaguely remember the last time I walked the grounds of Winterfell, back when it was still ours. Telling anyone who would listen to my dreams of wanting to marry a handsome young prince one day, hoping I could one day rule as Queen._ Scoffing, she made her way up the stairs. _I was such a foolish little girl._

_It all still looks the same. As if no time had passed here, almost as if everything refused to go on or even move, until the Starks returned to their rightful home._ The thought brings a sad smile to her face. _At least all the ones who are left._

Finally reaching the top, Sansa waited for the sun to rise, hoping it would be as beautiful as she remembered it. The last time she had seen the sunrise from here had been the morning King Robert and the royal family had come. Her mother had woken all of the children early to make certain they were dressed accordingly and all the preparations had been made.

She had wanted to look her best: perfect dress, hair done in the most elegant way possible, and practicing her greetings. Sansa had hoped to impress Prince Joffrey. She didn’t want to be grouped amongst her siblings, who were busy entertaining one another with play and laughter. 

_That is not the way a future Queen was to behave._ Knowing then what she does now, she would have joined them. Even if they did not have much in common, but just to feel their presence one last time. Sansa had many regrets. Distancing herself from her siblings was by far, one of the greatest. 

_I only wish I had come to see the world for what it was sooner. Perhaps we would not have lost our home so quickly. Or each other. Jon and I are the only ones left now. Jon. Everything from that day, and the memory of him is the one that is the most clear right now. His face, his laugh, the way he stood, apart from us because he was a bastard, not entitled to the Stark name._

Looking over the wall, Sansa kept her eyes towards the bleak horizon, even as she heard footfalls approaching. 

“Sansa, I didn’t think I would find you awake so early.”

“I’m always awake early. You just never noticed me before until now,” turning to Jon as he hovered near her shoulder, “though finding you here is just as surprising. Why are you up?”

Smiling as he leaned over the ledge, “I came here to watch the sunrise. It’s been too long since I’ve come to enjoy one, like I did when we were younger.” 

Glancing over at him, Sansa does not know what to say. She had always assumed she was the only one who would wake early just to see the golden hues break day. Tentatively, she reached for Jon’s hand, partially covering it over the snow. What surprised her was not him removing his hand, but his sharp intake of breath, not realizing she had heard. She for sure thought he would have jerked it away after everything that had happened lately.

Risking to peek at his face, she noticed the longing in his eyes, followed by such a sorrowful expression, then vanishing as quickly as it came. Almost as if it weren’t there to begin with. 

As both of them looked towards the sky, watching the rays of pink and gold filter it, Sansa couldn’t help but feel as if this was where she belonged. Here with Jon, hand in hand, no words, enjoying each other’s company. As a strange feeling came over her, it took her a moment to realize that it was something good. That light feeling she would feel as a child, the one that had been robbed of her the day her father was charged with treason. It wasn’t until the wind blew cold and clammy on her face that she realized she was crying. 

“Is everything alright Sansa? What’s wrong?” 

She shook her head before turning to look at him and reaching to take both of his hands in hers, squeezing them tightly to reassure him.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that being here in this moment with you and watching the sunrise in our home again has shown me that it is possible to start over. That even though the past can be painful and full of bad memories, it doesn’t mean there can’t be a better future. I lost sight of that some time ago, and feared I would never see it again.”

“I know things have been tense between us. I take blame in part of it. But I just wanted to thank you for sharing this moment with me.” 

Wiping the tears away, a smile lit up her face with one of pure joy, something she had not felt for many years. “I had also assumed I was the only one who cherished watching the sunrise, but it seems as if I can now share this with someone I truly care for. Perhaps we can make this a ritual of some sort? A way to start off each day, knowing that even if it will be tiresome, it will at least have a good start.” 

Jon was at a loss for words. He made her happy. Showing up here, walking aimlessly to clear his thoughts, not knowing she would be in the same exact spot. He saw her face before he had arrived. Her fears, regrets or sorrow, whatever it had been. Just being there, he had helped in making it just a little better. 

Her talk of new beginnings was also something he thought would never happen after taking the black. No hope for love, marriage or even children. Perhaps now that they were both back home, he could have it all. His life could be different, if he only took this chance, he could get everything he was told he could never have. 

As Sansa leaned in, going to hug him, Jon felt as if he could not wait for his one desired question to go unanswered. Slightly turning his head, he closed his eyes as his lips found hers, soft and tender. Softly grazing over them, Jon keeps the kiss short, but long enough to show his meaning. Leaning back, fearing her response, he knows he can’t wait until death takes him again. 

“Sansa, let me explain. Please.” He waits a moment before continuing. Sansa’s heart began to hammer in her chest, emotions running through her mind impossibly fast.

“Growing up, I remember you singing songs of brave heroes and beautiful maids. Of your dreams to marry a prince, someone who would give you everything your heart desired. A man of great courage and a kind heart, someone everyone in the Seven Kingdoms would respect. I know I can't even begin to measure to that kind of man, but I can’t continue to ignore my feelings for you. I love you Sansa, and everything you are.”

Seeing no change in her expression, Jon pressed on, praying to the gods he wasn’t making a mistake.

“I understand if you may only see me as nothing more than a bastard, cursed to be raised by a family who must have wished he had never been born. But when I look at you, it is as if none of that matters. I see you for all that you are, from the girl who always wanted to be a Queen, to the woman who now just wishes to have happiness. I may be reaching, but I don’t believe that I am alone in feeling this way. However, if I am, and you should cast me away, I would only say that it has all been worth it. Everything that has happened since being reunited, all of the death and fear of it never getting better, I only wish for you to know one thing. You, Sansa Stark, are worth it all to me.”

Minutes passed by with neither of them saying a word. Feeling as if his heart might beat out his chest, Jon doesn’t look away. He was expecting an outburst, with her yelling at him that he truly was as disgusting and vile as bastards were said to be.

What he didn’t expect was her short intake of breath, her hands gathering the skirts of her dress and turning away to escape his presence immediately.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, Jon, wide eyed, realized that he may have just made the biggest mistake of his life. He thought he had interpreted all of her signs correctly. The unexpected gestures, the lingering touches, the way she’d look at him… longingly. Had it all been in his head?

Staggering back, he turned, making his way towards the stairs. As he left, what he didn’t realize were a pair of eyes, hidden in the shadows, witnessing it all.

**********

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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Vela and I are finally back! Wonderful vacations, but it was sadly time to return to our normal lives. So sorry for the late update, we really thought we could work on writing while being away but alas it didn't work. So here is chapter 3. We hope you guys enjoy it very very much! Drop some love!
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> -Valy

Each day, the winds had gotten more bitter, and the days slightly shorter. Harshly tugging his cloak closer to his body, Jon just stood there, trying not to think of the worst. He had been coming out here, praying that maybe he had dreamt what happened. Maybe it didn’t happen at all. That’s why she isn’t here. She doesn’t know that they had wanted to do this.

_Or maybe she just isn’t here, because she doesn’t want to see me. She knows I’m here waiting. Why else wouldn’t she come?_

Pinching his face into his usual scowl he had come to wear throughout the days, Jon tightened his grip on the edges of the cloak. The cloak she had made for him. Just like their father’s. The one that was almost identical to hers. He could hear more than feel the crinkle of the leather from his gloves, straining against his fist. He had really hoped she would show. 

Letting the hoods of his eyes hang low, he knows he shouldn’t expect her. She must hate him for what he has done, maybe even fears him now. He doesn’t deserve her presence, and she must believe it also. She had been avoiding him since this whole thing had happened. She only addressed him when it was absolutely necessary of her duty as Lady of Winterfell. The meetings they had before and after grievances had become so strained. She would only bring up updates on supplies or tasks they had given the townsfolk to do, to help with the approaching weather. 

Anytime he tried to speak to her, really discuss the main issue on his mind, she would abruptly stand, never meeting his eyes, and cease their conversation. Always leaving in a hurry, as if she couldn’t stand even the sight of him. He made a fool of himself, and now, he is paying the price for it. All for assuming that sh-

Jon perked up as he heard soft footsteps slowly coming from the stairs. She came. It must be her. With a hopeful smile tugging at the ends of his lips, Jon turns, only to have his features falter and his heart sink.

“Your Grace, another raven has arrived. From the Twins.”

Taking the scroll from Maester Wolkan, Jon undoes the wax binding holding the parchment together. Feeling the close heat coming off the Maester’s body, he explicitly yearned that it was from the person he had hoped was interrupting his thoughts. 

Carefully reading over the written message twice, to be sure he was seeing it correctly, Jon’s earlier anguish seeped out of him. A cold dread curling it’s way around him.

“Send for Lady Sansa, Ser Davos, and anyone else who would need to hear this and have them meet me in my office.” Jon addressed Maester Wolkan as he headed to the stairs. “The Freys have fallen.” 

  


**********

  


Lighting the candles in front of the statue, Sansa stood there, just watching the flames dance in the darkness. Aside from coming to bury Rickon, she had put off coming down here at all. But now she needed to go somewhere for a while where no one would bother her and her chambers were too predictable to be in. A place she could freely let her mask fall and her true face show without having to worry that someone would ask her what was wrong. 

No one was going to come down here unless it was absolutely necessary to find her. She needed to be alone with her thoughts right now. Everything was in pieces.

Tearing her eyes from the flames, Sansa looked up to her mother’s face. The last time she had seen her had been before she left for King’s Landing all those years ago. The resemblance was remarkably accurate. Almost as if she were really in front of her. 

Tears welling in her eyes, she felt like a little girl again. Wanting nothing more than to tell her mother all of it. Everything, all her fears, every painful memory. Even the times her darkest of thoughts would ebb at the corners of her mind, of wanting to join her mother, just so she wouldn’t be alone anymore. 

They all come rushing, every word hurrying to escape her lips. Feeling the tight, burning sensation she knew all too well, Sansa caught the sentences in her throat, pushing them all back down. Bowing her head and closing her eyes, she breathed in and out, trying to regain her composure. 

For a moment she just stood there, hands balled tightly, focusing on her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Counting each thump until the numbers were spaced further apart. She waited until her breaths came more evenly. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took one more deep breath, willing the quivering in her lip to stop. Before Sansa could open her eyes though, she felt her hair bristle, as if someone had run their hand through it. 

Feeling the wet, burning sensation in her nose again, a bittersweet memory of her early days entered her mind. She used to sit on a stool, with her hands in her lap, and her eyes closed. Her mother would take her time running a brush through Sansa’s hair, both of them speaking about whatever was on their minds. Her mother would always caress her head and give her a light kiss at the crown of it before going to style it in either a braid or an intricate updo.

_Mother never did let the handmaidens touch my hair. She didn’t trust them to care for us like she would. That was when we would spend most of our intimate time together… oh how I miss it… how I miss her..._

Unclenching her fists, Sansa finally opened her eyes again. The grief she felt was slowly creeping out of her now, leaving her drained but less tense than before. As she looked into her mother’s face one last time, a chill ran over her. Sending up a silent prayer, Sansa turned and walked on to her father’s statue.

She took her time lighting his candles, trying not to look at him so soon. Her last memory of him had given her night terrors for so long, that after she had become numb to them, she told herself she would never think of her father again. It hurt too much.

But standing here now, in front of him again, brought back everything before King’s Landing ever happened. All the times he would take time to walk with her throughout Winterfell, listening to her speak about honorable knights and fair maidens. Answering her questions about the royal family and what the duties of the monarchs were.

Her fondest memory though, was when she was but six years old. Her father had gone on a hunting trip with the boys for over a week. When they had gotten back, she ran to him, jumping and crying out excitedly when he lifted her in the air, hugging her tightly. As soon as he had set her down, he put both his hands behind his back, telling her to pick one of them. Choosing the left one brought out only twigs and leaves. The right one though, held a new doll, an exact replica of Sansa. The eyes and hair the same color, the dress, blue with white trimmings, one of her favorites, and it had a small crown. 

She loved it from the first moment, never parting with it. She slept with it, had it with her during her sewing lessons, and especially when her father left for days to handle any issues that required his attention in person. Having her doll, only reminded her that he loved her and he would always come back to her. That she was safe. 

But now that doll was left back in her chambers inside the Red Keep. When she had fled from King's Landing, she didn’t have a chance to go back for it. It didn’t matter though. After dying, her father's doll did little to give her the comfort she so desperately craved for again.

Pulling on her fingers, a habit she could never shake when she was upset, Sansa let out a wet sob she didn’t even know she was holding on to. She hated to cry so much, but she hadn’t cried over her family in what felt like ages. She couldn’t with so many prying eyes, but down here, it felt appropriate to do so now, especially with her feelings so mixed. 

Wiping her face, Sansa let out a ragged sigh and tried to think of the other reason she had come down for. It had been days since Jon and her had watched the sunrise together. When he had decided to tell her of his feelings for her. His true feelings. The shock of it all had been too much for her at the time. Instead of saying anything, she had run off, leaving him wide-eyed, probably to think the worst to come. 

Moving to pace the small area she was in to help calm her nerves, Sansa thought over what had happened the last few days. Since that morning, she had been trying to do everything possible to avoid Jon. Going over with the many Lords about which supplies took precedence over others, meeting to sew with the few ladies helping out with the linen left and turning them into warmer clothes. She even ate her supper in her own chambers, claiming slumber before he would have a chance to come to her. 

The only times she wasn’t able to hide from him were during their arranged meetings they decided to have every few days.They would offer each simple pleasantries, exchanging their need to know on how Winterfell was picking itself back up. It had been such a difficult time making brief eye contact with him, that she left immediately once every pressing topic was either brought up, or when he would try to stray from focus. She always left him speechless and full of such grief. His moodiness had begun to reflect upon the lower Lords. Passing a few here and there, she overheard them speaking of how ill-tempered Jon was when they spoke to him on occasions. 

Chuckling mirthlessly to herself, she knew just how much his brooding could affect the way he handled situations. It would put him in the foulest of moods, only adding heat to the hot temperedness he already tried to keep constrained when he was upset. 

Jon had always sparred when he was angry when they were younger. A practice he still used today, though mainly to make sure the young Lords were coming along with theirs. He always looked so calm and focused when he had a sword in his hand. Every blow doing enough damage for show but never to injure. 

Sansa loved to watch him when he was training. It made her feel more secure knowing that Jon knew what he was doing. Though she didn’t know at the time, Jon always made sure to train in between their meetings or before midday meals, as to make sure she would be able to see the progress they were making. It had only dawned on her when she tolerated the few talks here and there with Littlefinger.

He had mentioned it in passing, watching her the way he always did, wide-eyed and always too close. Instead of giving him the reaction he was expecting though, she just made sure to keep her face composed. After all, observing for years to those who knew how to play the game only ensured that Sansa of course, could too. Perhaps even better.

  


**********

  


Shifting her weight in her chair once more, Sansa was beginning to grow weary from being summoned with such urgency. They had been here for what seemed like hours, though it was perhaps only ten minutes, just sitting in silence, yet Jon refused to acknowledge what the urgent matters were.

Looking at Brienne out of the corner of her eye, the woman seemed to also realize that this was taking quite a long time. It was just the two of them along with Jon in his office. He wasn’t even looking at them, just standing near the window, looking down at the smallfolk working. Growing frustrated, Sansa questioned what both women are thinking.

“Jo-”, she cut off as he looked over his shoulder at the sound of her voice. There was a reason she hadn’t been able to fully make eye contact with him, the pain in them was too much for her to bear. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Jon. Is there a reason you called us here so fervently? We have been here for a while and you haven’t spoken a word.”

He doesn’t answer right away. It’s the first time he has had a chance to look in her eyes fully in ages. Letting his gaze linger for just a second more, Jon turned his head back towards the window, as if it were more interesting than anything in the world right then. 

“Not everyone has arrived yet. It won’t be much longer, Sansa. I promise.” His voice hitched ever so slightly as her name left his lips. As if it were a struggle to even say it anymore, let alone in her company. 

Looking over her shoulder, Sansa noticed her sworn knight quickly assert her eyes elsewhere, to seem as if she weren’t listening so intently. Of course the woman might have just mistaken Jon’s weariness for stress of being King. What with all his duties. Hopefully. 

Letting herself take this moment, she turned her attention back to him. Allowing just this once, to observe him without consequence. Jon’s stature was so rigid, with his back straight, hands clasped behind his back. Looking closer though, Sansa could see how tight he was holding his hands together, knowing his fingers would likely leave indentions in the skin. Roaming to his head, she could see his hair was tied back into its usual bun, the way she preferred. 

She thinks of the many times they would spend in his office, when they had just reclaimed Winterfell. He would have his hair down, hands running through it so much, that when he stopped to look at her, it looked more like a mane. She would sometimes even chastise him for it, before going over behind him to put it in a bun for him. She would gently run her own fingers through it, to comb out the knots, before tying it in place. It was always soft to the touch.

As the door suddenly swept open, Sansa started, cheeks tinting ever so lightly for having been interrupted in a private thought. She looked towards the entrance to see Ser Davos entering, a frown framing his face as he went to stand beside Jon’s desk. Not too long in tow behind him, in walked Lord Baelish, who scanned the room before settling on Sansa. His face lit up in amusement at the color in hers.

As he found his place, against the furthest wall with the best view, Jon finally turned around to face the room. His gaze slowly swept over everyone, assessing each person. As his eyes found Lord Baelish’s, they hardened while sizing him up. Quickly flicking to Ser Davos, a knowing look passes through them before Jon clears his throat.

“Now that _everyone_ is finally here, we can address the matters for which I called you each upon.” Reaching on his desk for a scroll with its seal already broken, Jon holds it up for everyone to see. “I received this message this morning from the Twins. A few weeks ago, someone entered the castle and killed every Frey man including Lord Walder.” 

Handing the scroll for them all to read, Jon waits, watching each expression of the person it is handed to break into shock. Just as he had when he had first read the parchment. 

“Does anyone know who killed them?” Ser Davos asked, handing the scroll back to Jon. “Surely someone must have seen something or someone.”

“Aye, Lord Walder’s wife and all the kitchen maids present claimed it was a woman in disguise. Whoever the person was told them to relay this message ‘ _Tell them the north remembers. Tell them winter came for house Frey_ ’” Walking to the edge of his desk, Jon leaned back to sit on it, folding his arms. “I called you here because you all know that the Freys were our enemies.”

“While they are no longer a problem for us to worry about, whoever did this, just as well might be. They murdered an entire house in one sitting. We don’t know who they are, or what they received in favor of doing this.”

“‘ _The north remembers’._ Are we positive that this person isn’t a loyalist to House Stark?” Ser Davos asked. Obviously Sansa wasn’t the only one who noticed that part of the message. 

“Aye, they might have been.” Jon said. “Regardless if they are or not, this isn’t something we should ignore.”

“What do you propose we do about this then?” Sansa inquired. “How do we stay cautious of someone if we don’t know who they are or what they look like?”

“If I dare say, I believe I can be of great assistance on this particular problem.” A raspy voice chimed in. “Being someone with a particular wide reach, I can contact a few of my… close acquaintances, and perhaps try to learn of anyone that seems to have had a grudge with the Freys. That is, if His Grace permits my doing so.”

With a smug look on his face, Lord Baelish lifted his head to Jon, who in turn, looked annoyed that the other man had spoken. That he was even present in the meeting.

Watching them both stare each other down, gave Sansa such a headache that she could barely think. Someone had murdered most of the Freys, leaving the house to no living male heirs. If someone could do that without leaving a trace, who knows what else they were capable of doing. Just because someone killed one of their enemies doesn’t mean that they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to the Starks.

Littlefinger offering his own expertise on this might be beneficial. Sansa already knew that he had his ways of finding out things. If they truly did want to find out who this person was, maybe they should let him do what he did best. She only hoped Jon won’t disagree to it. That his head wasn’t too crowded with other priorities to use his judgement correctly on this. 

“And how do we know that your _acquaintances_ will even be reliable Lord Baelish?” Jon asked.

Walking forward without breaking eye contact, Lord Baelish stopped dead center of the room, before turning so that all of their attention is on him. 

“I know that most of you have your differences with me. Perhaps not even trust me. I cannot sway you to change your minds so quickly. However, I can only say that what I offer, is only for the good of House Stark. For the North.” As he said the last bit, he was facing Sansa, his gaze fixed almost intimately on her. 

No one spoke, all knowing to wait for their King to decide on the notion. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his face revealing almost all his fury at the words coming from Littlefinger's mouth. 

_I need to do something to fix this before it escalates._ Sansa thinks as she gets to her feet quickly. As much as she hated to admit to herself, she needed Lord Baelish alive… for now.

“Jon, I think this is something we should consider.” Sansa insisted, casually walking between the two men, trying to catch Jon’s eye. “If Lord Baelish believes he can find who this person is, we should allow him to at least try.”

She pointedly fixed her gaze on him, praying he caught her real meaning. _Please Jon, don’t be stubborn and just go along with it. For me._

As he glanced between her and Littlefinger, the menacing look he had, started to simmer into a subtle understanding. 

“Fine Lord Baelish. You may reach out to your…”, Pausing as he looked the man up and down. “... _friends._ If you do happen to gain knowledge, notify this council, and this council only of it.”

Looking to Sansa one last time, Jon conveyed his own message to her with an impassioned gaze. 

_I trust you. Don’t let this be something I regret later._

Releasing her breath, she cast her eyes down. Although she was grateful he had caught her message, Sansa knew part of Jon’s content to listen to her was only because he wanted to please her. They had already discussed Littlefinger’s persistent attitude for staying in Winterfell. While neither liked to entertain the thought of his actual being there, Sansa had convinced Jon to let her play this out her way. 

“Thank you, _Your Grace._ ” His usual sly smirk enveloping on his face, Lord Baelish dipped his head toward Sansa once more. “And of course, thank you Lady Sansa.”

Turning, he went back to take his place slumped against the wall. 

Clearing his throat, Ser Davos stepped forward. “Well, now that…all of this has been…cleared up, if that is all that was to be discussed, what say we all go back to our usual duties for the day?”

Agreeing, everyone made their way to the door, grateful for the chance to leave. 

“Do you need an escort, my Lady?” Brienne asked Sansa, eyeing something over her shoulder. 

Glancing back, she noticed Lord Baelish inconspicuously waiting for them to leave. For her to leave. Sighing, she calmly put her mask back on, letting herself remove all emotions.

“Yes, Brienne. I would like to go to the Godswood.”

Briskly walking towards the door, she didn’t even have to look to know that Lord Baelish was watching her. He was always watching her. She felt that same tingling feeling go down her back, making the hair on the back of her neck rise. 

Risking a glance though, she saw that he wasn’t the one staring at her. Lord Baelish was looking past her. Clenching her jaw, Sansa knew exactly who he was observing, even if they didn’t. Although she couldn’t see them, she felt them. Those dark, brooding eyes boring into her. The ones that she refused to meet on her way out. 

  


**********

  


Still glaring at the door even after everyone had gone, Jon couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. As much as he wanted to go after her, he knew he shouldn’t. Especially after what had just happened. If he had his way, he wouldn’t have even let that snake speak, let alone get what he had asked for. But Sansa knew what she was doing. 

_After all this time, when she decided to finally even look at me, it’s in front of him._ Gritting his teeth, Jon thinks of the way Littlefinger had ogled Sansa, as if she were his. Staring him down as she left, almost daring Jon to say something. _I should have cut him down where he stood._

Hearing a crackling sound, Jon looked down and noticed that he was crushing the parchments he was supposed to be reading over in his hands. Setting them aside, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his temple. Everything had gone to shit. Everything they were preparing for, and he had gone and made it much more complicated.

Firstly, he made a complete ass of himself in front of Sansa, damaging something he might never be able to replace. Now, with a new possible threat veering their way, he was expected to begrudgingly tolerate someone he doesn’t trust nor even respect, to find out who their new threat was. 

_If he doesn’t become a threat of his own. He could give us the wrong information, or only half-truths. I’m sure he would love to see my downfall as much as he enjoyed our father’s._

“Lost in your head again I see.” Ser Davos said, bringing Jon back. As the older man gave him that knowing look, one he had received so many times already, Jon sat up straighter. He had almost forgotten the man had stayed behind. 

“Aye, I’m sorry Davos.” Jon replied, trying to muster a smile, though he felt it must have looked more like a grimace. “So much is happening right now, I can’t think correctly.”

Walking to the door, Davos looked down the halls twice, making sure no one was around to lurk. Closing it, he stalked back to sit in one of the chairs in front of Jon’s desk. Resting his arms on top of it, Davos peered at Jon, waiting until he was sure he had his full attention.

“As one your advisors, I feel it is my duty to tell you when you ignore your obligations, or when it appears you are not entirely focused on them. I know you Jon, and what kind of man you are. You are not one to act on whims or emotions without thinking the situation through.” Sighing, he turned away, unsure of how to bring the topic up. “However, lately it seems you have been considerably more distracted when it comes to your own duties. I have heard talk among the people, of you snapping at them more, not entirely listening when they give their grievances. Leaving for hours, with no one being able to find you.” 

_Where is he going with this?_ Furrowing his brow in thought, Jon briefly looked down at his desk. He knew it was true. From time to time, he would leave Winterfell, bringing Ghost with him on occasion, to walk and try to clear his head. To get away from everything for a while and forget most of what had been happening.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t notice these things myself. I have. I also made excuses for you, claiming stress was the issue behind your actions.” Davos grunted out as he leaned back in his chair. “But you and I both know, that isn’t the reason.” 

Snapping his eyes back up, Jon just sat there, gaping at his trusted friend. Swallowing, he brought his arms down to rest in his lap, clenching and unclenching his fists. Surely he and Davos weren’t thinking of the same thing. Jon had been trying to act normal, to pretend that nothing was wrong. 

“Now lad, I may not be the brightest man you have met, but I’m not blind. I know full well what is going through your mind. At first I had my suspicions, but told myself that I was imagining things. Over time though, I saw more of these instances and it was gettin’ harder to deny the fact. But after what just happened in this room with that man, I have no choice but to believe my assumptions are correct.”

Squirming in his seat, Jon knew there wasn’t anything he could say right now to steer this conversation to a better end. Every word that came out of his friend’s mouth held too much truth to them. Any explanation he came up with would only add heat to the fire he knew was sure to come. 

“While it might not be any of my business, I do feel it is my place to say this. Or at least acknowledge it.” A grave expression set on his face, Ser Davos asked the question neither of them wanted to hear. “Now son, tell me, how long ago was it that you realized you were in love with Lady Sansa?”

Closing his eyes, Jon tried to breathe evenly. _Fuck._

  


**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people still with us! I know it has been a while since posting, and both Val and I feel terrible about it. It has been a very rough couple of weeks for both of us, which left no time to focus on the fic. But, I am happy to say that we are back in the saddle and ready to write our hearts out for you guys! We really hope you love this chapter just as much as we loved writing it. 
> 
> By the way! As we write, we actually listen to Game of Thrones music for inspiration for certain scenes or to just give effect. For this chapter, the songs we listened to are in this order for anyone who wants to experience it how we did. 
> 
> Scene 1 & 2: Dragonstone (it should go all the way through)  
> Scene 3: none  
> Scene 4: Home, Winterfell, and last but not least 'I am hers, she is mine'
> 
> As always, we hope you enjoy!
> 
> -Vel

_You were brought by a storm that raged horribly enough to overturn hundreds of ships… Few people are spoken about, capable of being born of such a storm… Those who were born to rule..._

The castle was very different from the many stories she remembered hearing about. High on it’s hill, standing strong, just how her ancestors had anticipated it to be. The throne room, mimicking her true one in King’s Landing, was smaller than she had thought it would be. Nonetheless, it served its purpose for now. 

The halls were filled with tapestries of past Targaryens, beautiful beyond words. There was Daenys the Dreamer, whose visions foretold the doom of Valyria. Without her, the Targaryens would have perished along with everyone else during that tragic time, and the glorious accomplishments that have come to be wouldn’t have happened.

Walking down the corridor, the faces of those who started it all came to view: Aegon and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen. Oh, the glory that accompanied those names. As the last living Targaryen, she swore to herself and those before her, that a dragon **_will_ **once again sit on the Iron Throne.

Turning her head, the next tapestry depicted Balerion the Dread, Vhagar, and Meraxes. _How magnificent it must have been to ride them._ Running her fingertips across the stitching, Daenerys only thinks of what she would give for her children to grow as big as Balerion or even Vhagar. Maybe in the years to come, long after she had gone, her dragons would become as big as those of her ancestors. 

Pride swelled inside her as she gazed upon the tapestries showing each of the Targaryen siblings riding their dragons. The determination on her ancestors’ faces, the fearlessness. It reminded her of how she imagined she looked when she rode Drogon. The thought brought a smile to her face as screeching filled the air just outside, making the walls tremble with the sound.

Admiring their beauty for a moment longer, she continued walking. There was Maegor the Cruel who acquired his moniker by killing all the workers who built the Red Keep. The secrets dying with them. 

_Secrets I will learn all about when I retake my Kingdom._

Another was of Rhaenyra, who’s claim was taken from her. but went to war to fight for her seat on the Iron Throne. _The Dance of Dragons._ She ruled for such a short amount of time and lost so much. Daenerys knows to make sure she doesn’t make the same mistake. She will not let anyone deter her right to her throne. 

_Anyone who doesn’t bend the knee to me, will face the same consequences those in Meereen did. All will learn soon enough who their rightful Queen is._ As her eyes slid over the few that only conveyed more battles and lineages, a familiar scene caught her eye. A turning point for the history of the Seven Kingdoms.

It was of Daeron the First of his name. who conquered Dorne but then died at their hands, in return liberating themselves once again. It would be years later when Daeron the Second would finally gain Dorne with a marriage alliance between Prince Maron Martell and Princess Daenerys Targaryen. A wise move in her opinion. The perfect way to unite and keep all the Kingdoms together as one. As they should have been from the start. 

_As much as I hate to admit it, Viserys’ storytelling has actually been quite useful. What’s a Queen if she doesn’t know of those who came before her._ Shaking a scowl from her face at his memory, Dany moved on, passing the rest of the portraits, barely acknowledging what she knew of them. 

When she finally came to the face of her father, she stopped. Looking up, her eyes immediately focused on the crown sitting atop his head, skewed to one side. He looked very young from when this one was made, as if he had just been crowned the same day. As that familiar heat began to run through her, her vision blurred with unshed tears.

She never knew who her father was. She never got the chance. His usurpers made sure of that. While Robert Baratheon may be dead, those who helped in murdering her father were not. Alive and well, no guilt in their actions. Leaving her only with stories, as if they compared to the real thing.

Placing her hand where her father’s was, Daenerys closed her eyes. _Soon father. I will make sure every last one of them pays for their betrayal with their life. Blood for blood. Our reign will not end with you._

Opening them again, she took one last look at her father. His silver hair and violet eyes, same as hers. The only difference between them would be their fates. Hers will be to rule, sitting on the Iron Throne, as his should have been. 

Finally turning, she made her way to her war room. Even though Tyrion had said there wasn’t much to be done before meeting with her visitors from Dorne and High Garden in the next few days, Daenerys knew she shouldn’t waste time. She needed to map out her plans if those of her Hand’s were to fall through. Again. 

**

As she entered her war room and walked up to the Painted Table, Daenarys ran her hand over it, like she had when first arriving to Dragonstone. It truly was breathtaking in her opinion. She had never seen anything like it. Every curve, each mound, glossed and polished with pure craftsmanship. It matched the stone that had been carved into the wall, adding quality to the room. 

A knock on the door drew her attention from both arts. Looking up, she waited for whoever it was to enter the room. As the door opened, Daenerys’ smile returned. 

“Khaleesi.” Even after all her accomplishments, Jorah still called her by her first title. “I do apologize. I hope I wasn’t interrupting your thoughts.”

“Nonsense. The interruption is always welcome when you’re the one doing it.” She said, her smile growing fonder. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing that needs worrying. I just came to inform you that a rider has just arrived. They’re waiting in your throne room.”

“Another visitor.” Rolling her eyes, Daenerys turned back to the table. “Is this one also here to bend the knee to me while claiming I don’t have much favor among the rest of Westeros?”

Shifting his weight on his feet, Jorah furrowed his brows, a look of concern etching across his face. He never liked when Daenerys was in a foul disposition like this, especially when it came to her dream of retaking the Iron Throne. After what Varys had said to her when he came to show his loyalty, she had told him in confidence that she was afraid of what the eunuch had so boldly told her. Though she had prospered in Meereen and among the Dothraki, she feared that the Westerosi wouldn’t be so easily swayed. 

Ever since, she had tried to harden herself, show everyone that his words hadn’t affected her as he had hoped they would. That she was the great ruler the rumors spoke about. But when it was just the two of them, she was able to let herself relax just a bit. Enough for Jorah to see the woman underneath, the one he first fell in love with. 

“I don’t believe our visitor is anything like the last.” Jorah said, walking closer. “She claimed to be a red priestess, sent by her God, to give you a message. By the distance she has traveled, I might advice indulging her.”

“Red Priestess? Where did she say she traveled from?”

“From the deep North. Winterfell precisely. She made very quick time riding here. I might say whatever it is she needs to say, must be very important.”

Turning her head on it’s side a little, she remembers how the Red Priesthood helped her back in Essos. If they helped then, maybe this priestess is trying to do the same now.

“Very well, Ser Jorah.” Turning to face her friend, she looked up in time to see his worry show on his face before he could hide it. “Let’s see if what this priestess really says will be of importance to me.”

  


**********

  


Standing on the ramparts, Sansa watched as Jon along with other highly skilled men trained with the younger men, preparing them for the oncoming war. The clash of swords filled her ears. The sound used to only mean training sessions or sparring in tourneys. Now, all it meant to her was war. Each clank of metal on metal was like a countdown to her. The next one, could very well mean the last. With battle after battle toppling on top of each other, it was a wonder how they even had time to season anyone anymore.

As the echo of boots hit wood, Sansa sighed. She never could really get a moment's peace that much anymore. By the slow, dull sound, she could only guess who the steps belonged to. Glancing over her shoulder, she almost grimaced, knowing she had unfortunately proven herself right on who was coming towards her.

Turning back in time, Sansa did her best to hide her disdain. While she had been able to avoid him until now, she knew it would only be a matter of time. When Littefinger had set in his sights that he wanted to speak to someone, he would find a way to corner them. He always did.

As he sidled up next to her, she straightened her posture, doing her best to not look irritated. While she felt too weary to deal with him now, Sansa knew that she couldn’t keep holding him off any longer. Finally turning, she acknowledged him with their usual banter.

“Lord Baelish.”

“Lady Sansa, how do you fare today?”

“I’m well my lord.”

  
“That’s good to hear. I must say, I was worried for you before.” Giving her a once over that made her skin crawl, he waited before bringing his eyes back up. “Though it seems that being back home has given you a sort of glow. It suits you.” 

Noticing that the sounds of the training had diminished, Sansa looked down at the courtyard. She found Brienne holding up her hand to her squire, looking up at Sansa from down below. As the woman went to sheath her sword, Sansa waved her hand in a small gesture, letting her knight know she was okay.

At the sudden halt in movements, Jon turned, his eyes finding Sansa before sliding over to Littlefinger. As anger overcome his face, he gripped the hilt of Longclaw harder than was meant. Before anything could happen, the sound of resumed training went on. Turning his back to her, Jon continued sparring, though she noticed his throws were a little more harsher for the young man he was with. 

Sneaking a peek at Littlefinger, she realized that he had noticed their glance. His gaze was now fixed entirely on the scene below. 

“Do you have something to discuss with me Lord Baelish?” Sansa demanded, trying to distract him. “Otherwise I’d like to be left alone.”

When he didn’t respond, she started to grow irritated. The only thing he did was watch the men train. It was an uncomfortable silence before he spoke. 

“He really is the greatest swordsman in the North isn’t he?” His eyes were zeroed in on Jon, carefully examining each attack he threw at his opposite.

“Jon? My father made sure all his sons received the highest education and training, bastard or not. He was luckier than most.”

“Yes, he was indeed.” Finally focusing his attention back on her, the usual smug glint appeared in his beady eyes. “I’ve noticed you two have gotten _closer_ since reclaiming Winterfell.”

“Of course, he’s my brother. Why shouldn’t we be?”  
  
“Just stating a fact. I’ve come to know how brother and sister relationships can become, so complicated.” Sansa’s eyes narrowed, but kept her composure steady. She gave the conversation a new direction.

“Lord Baelish, I had been meaning to ask, have you been able to find out from your little birds anything about the Freys’ attacker?”

“Sadly no, there hasn’t been much talk about it. Though I would imagine not. If I remember correctly, Walder Frey was not the most well liked man.” As he went back to watching the men below, his demeanor changed. He almost looked pleased. “I did however come across some other, rather interesting news. It seems Daenerys Targaryen set sail weeks ago from Essos. She’s in her home, Dragonstone, as we speak.”  


“And what of her? Her coming to Westeros is of no importance to us.” She retorted, annoyance masked in her words. Of course he didn’t find any news on the Freys. She doubted he even tried. She knew he had only told Jon he would in order to vex him. 

“Pardon me Sansa, but that is where you are wrong.” Turning around to lean against the railing, Littlefinger spoke as if telling a tale. Playing along, Sansa watched him intently, like a child would when interested. “Daenerys Targaryen has come to Westeros to take back what was stolen from her family.”

“But nothing was stolen from her family. Robert Baratheon won the throne by right of conquest.”  
  
“She doesn’t care how it all came to happen. Her ancestors sat on the throne for three hundred years and believes it her birthright.” Sansa grew skeptical as she noticed his gaze fixed anywhere but her. “During her time in Essos, she’s acquired a Dothraki horde of almost 100,000 and an Unsullied army of 8,000. As well as three grown dragons. Or so I’ve heard. If I had to guess, she only came now because she has what she needs to take back the Seven Kingdoms.”

_Of course he could find out all this but he couldn’t gather anything regarding the Freys. What’s he playing at?_ Seeming rather bored now, Sansa resumes her attention to the happenings of the training yard.

“So then she’ll fight Cersei’s army and succeed in dethroning her. That’s one less problem for us.”

“And then what do you think will happen? Daenerys will sit on the throne and let the North continue being an independent kingdom?” Leaning towards her, he lowered his voice. “Do you think she’ll settle for just **_Six_ **Kingdoms?” Sansa began to get nervous, her heart beating hard in her chest. Too much of what he was saying made sense.

“Daenerys will demand that our King in the North bend the knee, like Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen.” Pausing, his voice was rough, almost sounding like he would enjoy seeing it happen. “Or suffer the consequences.”  
  
“The consequences?” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she felt her chest tightening. A knot was beginning to form in her stomach. 

“Death, of course. She would likely make an example of him: pledge yourself to House Targaryen or suffer my wrath.” Hunching over slightly and looking down, he wore a face of sorrow. As if it had already happened. “She’d take his head or maybe even burn him alive with her dragons.” 

Sansa’s heart nearly stopped at this, she couldn’t lose Jon, she _won’t._ Her eyes landed on Jon’s person as if to assure herself he was okay. Her hands held onto the rail tightly, her knuckles surely white with force. 

“Or maybe she would take a different route to her problem.” Although he had already captured her whole attention, that comment made her finally look at him.

“Which would be?” _What else could she possibly do that was worse than death?_ Sansa was having a hard time imagining anything else.

“A marriage alliance. A beloved King, to her Queen. The people would love it.” Raising his hand to make his point, a tail he did when he was almost sure of something. “And this way she gains the North again, and as the last trueborn living Stark, she’d name you Wardeness of the North.”

“Do you really think she’d propose such an alliance?” She scoffed, shaking her head trying to seem unfazed. Sansa was sure the strain in her voice was giving her away.  


“Jon Snow may be a bastard, but he has Stark blood in his veins. She would most likely legitimize him. Jon Stark. An important name, of course he’d be nothing more than a prince consort. She’s here to rule as an only Queen and his one duty would be to give her children, to further her lineage.” Sansa tried to imagine raven haired babes with violet eyes and it’s wrong, _so wrong._

“Maybe if you had been hailed Queen in the North, Daenerys would have come to sympathize with your story and let you rule a sovereign kingdom.”

“Me? A queen?” Sansa muttered to herself, loud enough for him to hear. Turning away from him, she let herself think about it. Her eyes widened at the thought of her, leading her people. _But without Jon...?_

“After all, a strong alliance would have assured both sides what they truly want.” Straightening up, it seemed he was satisfied with what he had shared. “But it seems we shall never know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some small matters to attend to. My Lady.” Petyr turned to walk away, a smirk gracing his lips. 

Stopping, he took one last look over his shoulder. “Oh, and Sansa, I do hope we can speak again soon. I’ve come to miss our shared time.” With a final dip of his head, he left.

Wrinkling her nose, she could still smell his putrid stench. Watching his retreating figure, she mulls over what he has just told her. He may be the most vile thing she ever met, but his unwanted presence has finally benefitted her. Another step to get what she needed. 

He thinks he’s planted seeds in her head, by telling her of that… _that_ _Dragon_ _Queen_. Telling her she should have been Queen in the North? It never occurred to her. Even if it had, she wouldn’t have wanted it. 

_He believes he has my trust, that he has me fooled. All he has done is prove me correct._

To her, Jon was the rightful King. It was always something she knew he would be good at. The North would be better off if they were an independent Kingdom, with him to be the one leading them. 

As she thought of what might happen if anything Littlefinger had said were to come true, her breathing hitched. Taking her hands off the rail, Sansa flexed her fingers to ease the soreness they felt. Wrapping her arms around herself, she breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly. Gripping her elbows, she tightened her muscles to stop the trembling running through her body. 

If any of it came true, she would lose the one person who mattered to her. Looking back down at the group, she sees the younger of them set off for the forge. The men who were training them, stood there as they watched the younglings leave, speaking to one another. 

Finally spotting him, Jon was turned to the oldest of the men left, giving him orders it seemed. His curls were sticking to his head from the sweat. Sansa could almost see the gleam of it from up there. Even with his face turned down in a frown, he looked handsome. 

_His brooding and moods would come off harsh in the face of the Targaryen Queen. She wouldn’t know what makes him happy, what he likes, or how to calm him when he is upset. Not like I would..._

Biting her lip, she continued to stare at him. The way he stood, how he moved his hands when speaking. The way that even if he wasn’t speaking to them, all the other men turned to hear what he had to say. 

_He is their King. He is the only one meant to rule over them. The Targaryen can’t have him. She can’t take him. In death, or in marriage. She can’t have him. He is theirs. He is_ **_mine_ ** _._

As recognition dawned on her, she sees the men disperse. Jon walked away from the group, slowing as he bent to grab Longclaw. Sheathing it to his side, he paused, as if he were going to do something, but in the last moment, had doubts. A look of uncertainty comes over him before his shoulders rise then fall. 

Turning, he walked out of the training yards, her eyes following him. Lifting her skirts, Sansa moved to the stairs. She needed to see Jon. To talk to him. It was time their silence between each other came to a stop.

_He is mine… I am his..._

**

As she made her way to the Godswood, Sansa couldn’t help it as her mind raced on, going over everything that had just happened. Everything that has happened with her and Jon. She picked through every event, each of their shared moments since they had reunited. She goes through each small gesture, especially the ones she thought she had imagined.

All he had done for her, shown her, gave her. The expression on his face when they first saw each other, how hard he had held onto her. Or when she had given him his cloak, and he had just stared at her, like he didn’t know what to say. But she knew how much he had loved the gift. He had worn it everyday since, always stroking the wolf on it or thumbing the clasp when no one was looking, a small smile on his lips.

During the feast after the battle, from what she could remember of the night, he had paid most of his attention to her. Then, she had assumed it was because of his need to show her she wasn’t alone. That they had each other, the only family they had left. That he would always be by her side, just as he had promised.

Now though, she knew it was because of what he felt for her, even if he didn’t know it himself at the time. Each laugh they shared or joke that was told, everytime she held onto his arm as she bent over with giggles, she would catch it. The way he looked at her.

_The way father would look at mother… the way a man looks at the woman he loves… the way Jon looks at me when he thinks I don’t notice._

Coming into view, she saw Jon sitting on an old fallen tree trunk. Longclaw in his hand, angled towards the ground as he used whetstone to sharpen it. His head bent down, focused as ever. He looked every bit as their father once did.

Breathing in deeply, she put all of her fears and doubts away. Getting closer, he faltered in what he was doing, having heard the crunch of snow under her feet.

She slowed to a stop when he turned his head, his eyes finding hers. Jon froze almost immediately, surprise written clear on his face. They just stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak. Even then, she saw it. As his eyes took in her face, it didn’t make her want to run like when other men did it. No, it made her wish she had seen it sooner, realized everything else sooner. 

“Sansa, is something wrong?” He asked, standing abruptly, concern covering up the anger trying to surface again from before. Her face must have slipped something to make him so suddenly worried. He looked about ready to fight on any person that dared to glance in her direction, sword held lightly but steadily. 

“No! Jon, everything is fine. I was just looking for you.” She walked towards him, hands raised in the air, pressing against his chest to stop him. “I was hoping we could talk. We haven’t in a while.” 

He looked straight into her eyes, as if to asses that everything was indeed alright before stepping back, her hands falling away from his chest and leaving a trail of cold behind. He gestured for her to sit next to him as he took his place once more. Returning to his forgotten task, he glanced at her before directing his eyes once more towards his sword. Almost as if he couldn’t bare to look at her when she was so close. 

They sat there in silence for what seemed like hours and Sansa hated it. She had hoped it would be easier than this, but she just felt so nervous now. She focused on something, anything to make small talk. Finding a good choice, she cleared her throat. 

“I’ve never told you how beautiful I find your sword. I know it’s not from home. How did you come to acquire it?”

Jon paused for a moment, taking the Valyrian steel sword and laying it across his legs, the pommel in direct view of Sansa so she could gaze on it.

“Lord Commander Mormont handed it down to me after saving his life. Passed down for generations. It was his sons sword, but his crimes had him exiled and he left the sword behind.” Pointing, he explained the worn piece. “Commander Mormont had the pommel remade from a bear to a direwolf before giving it to me.”

“A direwolf. With red eyes.” She said, reaching to stroke the pommel. It looked just like Ghost did. “What happened to him?”

Taking the sword off his legs, Jon leaned Longclaw against the log so he could rest his arms against his thighs, bowing his head as he looked at the snow covered ground.

“He was betrayed and killed by his own brothers. When I found out, I made sure to hunt each one down and kill them for it.” The only emotions she saw cross his face were anguish mixed with remorse. Sansa placed her hand around his wrist, to convey her message. He rarely talked about his time in the black. 

“I’m so sorry, Jon. He sounded like he was a great man.”

“Aye, he was. He didn’t deserve what befell him.” Turning his head, Jon tried to hide his pain. The last thing he wanted was for Sansa to see the shame he felt for not being there.

“And after his death, you became Lord Commander?” He nodded his head, fixing his gaze on their joined hands. Removing hers, she tucked both of them inside her cloak, resting them on her lap.  


“Ramsay told me how you had risen the ranks. He’d said ‘Bastards can rise high in the world’ as if he could compare to your achievements.” Angling her head towards him, a faint smile shadowed her lips. “But he couldn’t even hold a candle to you.”

“Jon, when I came to you at Castle Black, you weren’t Lord Commander anymore. You told me about not being titled with the position anymore, but not of how you came to leave the service.” Jon took in a sharp breath of air. He hadn’t told anyone of what happened, only those present at the time knew of the truth. 

“It’s a very long story Sansa.” He said, standing up again. He couldn’t very well tell her it right then. With everything still strained between them, he didn’t want to add anything more to make it worse. Walking a few steps, her turned back to face her. “Why did you come to see me?”

Looking up at him, she could tell this conversation might go wrong if they started off with what she really wanted to tell him. Especially with Jon looking so on edge as he did. They needed privacy for this. And time. Rising to her feet, she looked him straight in his eyes, just as he had done to her when she first arrived.

“I came because I wanted to speak with you. There are matters that need discussing, but we can’t do it here. It would take too long.” Trying her best to show him she only meant well, she reached for his hand. “I want you to join me for supper tonight. That is, if you want to? Come to my solar after you’ve finished your duties, eat with me and we can speak there. Maybe after, you can even tell me your long story of your time as Lord Commander.”

As he just stared at her, she was afraid he might not agree to being alone with her for so long again. Squeezing his hand, she felt those all too familiar calluses brush against her own. She just wanted a chance for them to try this again. “Please Jon.”

As she patiently waited for him to respond, he just peered into her eyes. He was trying to remember their vibrant color, the few glints of green in them. Mustering up a small smile, he squeezed her hand right back, nodding his head, because how could he refuse her? It was Sansa. He longed for things to be the way they used to be. Maybe this was how they could get back to that point again.

“Great! I’ll have them prepare your favorite. Thank you, Jon.” She considered herself before acting but then decided to lean in and hug him. Tentatively, Jon wrapped his arms around her, feeling a bit awkward. But as her warmth enveloped him, he closed his eyes, finally tightening his hold on her. He never wanted to forget how she felt against him ever again. 

Choking back her gasp, Sansa gripped him just as hard. His embrace felt almost as it had before. She never noticed just how perfect their bodies fit together. Feeling that tell tale sign of flutters in her lower belly and her face heat, Sansa pulled back, ducking her head before Jon could see. 

“I’ll see you tonight.” She told him, turning and making the trek back to the castle.

His eyes lingered on her form until he finally couldn’t spot her anymore. Sitting back down, Jon returned to his task. If they spoke about what he thought they would, he would make sure nothing was left unsaid. They owed each other that much.

  


**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here we are with another chapter, we wanted to get it up as soon as possible for you guys. This is one of our longest chapters to date with 7k words! It was a monster to write for a reason and we hope you guys absolutely enjoy it as much as we did ❤️
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> -Valy

Pacing, Sansa eyed the table once more. Everything was set out perfectly. It took a bit of speaking to, but she was able to convince the cooks to make Jon’s favorite at such short notice. Now if only he would show up to at least enjoy the meal before she drove herself mad with worry that he wouldn’t come. 

Although their conversation from earlier had gone well enough, it was still painful at how tense he had been. She could see it in the way his grip had tightened on the whetstone he had been using when she had mentioned his sword. How fast he was to drop the conversation. She knew that it wasn’t going to be easy to go back to normal so soon. But maybe after tonight, once she sat him down, it would be easier. 

Falling down into the lounge seat against the wall, she leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Groaning in exasperation, Sansa moved her hands to her head, rubbing the sides. All this worrying had left her a headache. Maybe she had wasted her time with this dinner. Maybe Jon wasn’t going to show after all. All her planning with the food, telling the chambermaids not to disturb them, to collect the empty trays in the morning.

The extra candles she had snuck from the Maester, just to set the mood. The bit of lavender oil she had rubbed on because she knew just how much Jon loved the scent, even if he didn’t like to admit it. The way she had braided her hair, because he had told her once how he preferred it that way instead of hanging down. All of it, her planning, and he wasn’t even here for it. 

Opening her eyes, Sansa stared at the fire roaring at the other end of the room. She supposed that she might as well eat, before the food went to waste. Before she could move, a knock interrupted the silence. Not even a few seconds passed before another came, a little louder this time. 

Jumping to her feet, Sansa made haste to get to the door before the person on the other end knocked again. Stopping halfway there, she breathed in deeply, trying to pace herself. She didn’t want to seem too forward. Running her hands down her skirts, she stepped as gracefully as she could. Her nerves were making her hands sweaty and she hadn’t even reached the damned door. 

Too focused on practicing a pleasant smile to put on, it was too late to catch herself as Sansa stumbled over the hems of her dress, falling forward. Reaching out, she braced herself, arms outstretched, as she slammed into the frame of the door. 

“Oh, Seven…” She muttered to herself, rubbing at the spot her head had hit against the wood. Surely it would leave a bump later. As she reached for the knob, she prayed it was Jon on the other side, or the trouble over getting to the door so quickly would have been for nothing. 

“Sansa.” Nodding his head towards her, Jon wore a curious look on his face. Obviously he had heard everything. Trying for a smile at him, Sansa moved to the side, letting him by. “Sorry I’m late, my last meeting went longer than expected.”

“Jon. That’s okay, as long as you came.” She said while closing the door, muttering under her breath to herself about how she thought he wouldn’t.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked, his eyebrow raised. He had heard that bit too. Turning a shade of pink, Sansa gestured towards the table, trying to move things along. 

“It doesn’t matter. All that does is that you’re here. Come, let’s sit.” Going over to where their food was, Sansa waited until Jon took his seat. Standing next to him, she removed the covers from their meals, then proceeded to sit down. She saw surprise run over Jon’s face as he set his eyes on their platters. Looking back up at her, she smiled fondly at him. 

“I told you I’d ask them to make your favorite: meat pie, just how you like.” She explained, softly chuckling. “Everyone is happy to please the King in the North.”

“Thank you, Sansa.” Jon croaked out. Clearing his throat, he reached for his utensils, patiently waiting for her to do the same. 

“Of course.” As Sansa took a bite of her meal, she looked up in time to see Jon take his. His face was turned down, but she still saw the corners of his mouth quirk up as his mouth closed around his fork. The cooks hadn’t been able to make this dish in a while, but they had decided that a request from the Lady of Winterfell was something that couldn’t be denied so easily. Particularly when that request involved the King. 

They sat there in silence, eating, just enjoying each others company. Neither of the two had been able to relax around the other in such a long time. Every time they met one another’s eyes, they shared a knowing smile. The memories of doing this almost every night in Jon’s office. Especially on days when they hadn’t seen much of each other. Even if they hadn’t spoke, they would just sit there, enjoying the peace. 

When they were more than halfway through their meals, Sansa decided to strike up a conversation with simple matters. Before she put forth what she really wanted to talk about.

“Have you been able to see to all the restorations that have been made since coming back home?”

“Aye, it’s all coming along well. The sooner we have the glass gardens rebuilt, the better.” Jon replied, reaching to take a drink from his mead. “What of the supplies? I know you’ve been trying to keep track of what is being used and what is being brought.”

“Well, we just received a few stones of grain, so we should be able to ration it until our next trade. Our meat stock however, is running low. We will need to send someone on a hunt for more soon.” 

“I’ll let one of the men know in the morning.” Lapsing back into silence, Sansa picked at her remaining food. She had been hoping their conversation would run smoother than this, so she could bring up what had been on her mind since that morning. Instead, it had ended very short.

Thinking of a few starters, Sansa didn’t have a chance to use any. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had something on her mind. 

“Sansa if I may, what did Lord Baelish speak to you about earlier?” Hearing the clipped way he had asked that, Sansa looked up. Noticing the change in his demeanor, she could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Even just the mentioning of the man’s name, let alone the fact he had spoken to her, set Jon off in the wrong ways. The hand holding his fork was held tightly, making his knuckles white. His posture always betrayed him, expressing how he really felt even when he pretended to be easy. 

Setting down her utensils, Sansa smoothed out her hands over her lap. She was trying to stay calm. But just remembering her conversation with Littlefinger made her heart pick up. It still gave her chills, the way he had said all those things. 

“He was relying information to me.” She answered, as vague as possible. 

“About the maiden?” Swallowing, Sansa shook her head.

“What did he tell you then?” Setting down his own utensils, they landed with a sharp clatter as they hit the plate. Eyes glowering darkly, locking Sansa firmly in place. “He was oddly close enough that it must have been of interest.”

Pursing her lips, her mouth turned down with a scowl. She hated when he let his anger get the best of him. Lowering her head a bit and narrowing her eyes, she matched his gaze with one of her own.

“Very well, since you’re so interested. It seems Daenerys Targaryen is in Dragonstone.” She spat out, moving to grip the arms of her seat. Fine, he wanted to bare his teeth this way, so could she. He wasn’t the only one with a temper. “She’s come to take Westeros, to take back the Iron Throne. Her birthright as she supposedly puts it.”

“Her birthright?” He mirthlessly chuckled. “It stopped being her birthright when Robert Baratheon won at the Trident.” Rolling his eyes, Jon took another drink. 

Watching the way his throat moved as the liquid went down, Sansa’s earlier fury began to dwindle. Taking a moment, she cooled herself, rethinking what Jon had just said.

“I had said the same thing.” A smirk curled it’s way onto her lips. “It seems that we think quite alike.” 

“It seems we do then. Well, with the Lannister’s having control of the south, Daenerys Targaryen is going to have to go to war with Cersei and  _ defeat _ her if she wants that ugly chair so much.” Leaning back, Jon waves his arms outward, as if the situation were meaningless to him. “Maybe what we say will come to fruition, and this next usurper will fix at least one of our problems.”

“Jon, you can’t be serious. If Daenerys wins, odds are she  **_will_ ** come North. She’ll demand we bend the knee after learning that we have declared ourselves an independent kingdom.” Sitting there quietly, Jon scratched at his beard. She was right of course. Even he should have been able to see that. “She will only be another Cersei wanting control of everything she sets her sights on.”

“Then she’ll have to defeat us in battle first.” He said. “And even then, she’d have to take my head before I ever bend the knee to her.”

“Jon!” Sansa’s heart lurched at the thought. Of course he was probably just being stubborn. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do, Sansa. The North chose me as their King, to guide them and defend them if need be and that is what I will do.” Looking to her now, his expression became forlorn. “I would do anything for the North. Just as I would do anything for you.”

Softly gasping at his tender expression, Sansa didn’t know what to think. Even after all he had done, Jon could always surprise her with how gentle his words could be. 

“She has a vast army. Thousands.” She whispered. “We wouldn’t stand a chance.” 

“Wars have been won against greater odds.”

“There are rumors that she has dragons Jon. What if she burned you alive? Just like her father did to our grandfather and uncle Brandon. We would have to surrender in fear!” She had hoped this would at least make him take it seriously. Watching as he took in the information, Sansa almost screamed when Jon sighed, a mourning smile appearing on his face. 

“If that happened, then with me gone, you’d be the only Stark heir left. If you bent the knee, she would likely keep you as Lady of Winterfell and name you Wardeness of the North.”

“I don’t care for any of those titles! Not if the North isn’t free.“ Pausing, she took a shuddering breath. “Not if you’re dead. I don’t want to be alone again, Jon. I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

Biting her lip to keep it from trembling, Sansa stood, walking a few paces away. Her eyes had begun to burn with unshed tears. 

“Sansa...” She could practically hear the hesitation in his voice. This wasn’t going how she wanted it. But if it didn’t matter to him if he died or not, maybe he truly didn’t care anymore. About anything.

“Lord Baelish said maybe she would propose a marriage alliance. You are a good King, and the people love you for it.” Turning back to him, her features hardened back to their normal state. “It’s exactly what she would need so the people could come to love her as well. The perfect way for her to gain the North.”

“Lord Baelish said this? It’s mad, just as he is.” He snapped. His shoulders were still tense and his eyes filled with hatred, but something about him seemed subdued. At least now he was taking this a bit more seriously. “Sansa, do you really believe I would marry someone else?”

“The two of you would make a powerful couple. No one would be able to stop you. Nor blame you, if you did choose to marry her. She’s rumored to be very beautiful. Young, with silver hair and violet eyes. That deep purple only spoken about in the stories our septa would tell us. You’d give her strong sons…” Jon stood abruptly, his chair nearly falling back, rocking on its legs. 

“ **_Sons_ ** ? We don’t even know if this Targaryen Queen would offer either of these options! Yet here you are, already marrying me off to some..some...” Trailing off, Jon looked at Sansa, breathing heavily, everything in his face speaking betrayal. Leaning his hands onto the table, he bowed his head. 

Holding her breath, Sansa brought her hands to her chest. Bowing her own head onto them, she stood there, waiting. He was so angry. Her comment about having children with  _ that woman,  _ he had practically lost it. And a marriage proposal? As if that were what she truly wanted. She didn’t mean for this to be the direction of their conversation tonight. 

Breathing in deeply, she suppressed the shudder that came out.  _ Why is this more difficult than it should be? How did we get to talking about this...this hellish topic? _

“Sansa. Look at me.” Looking back up, she saw him still leaning, but meeting her gaze now. “I don’t care for any of those things. They could offer me all the lands in the world, and I would still say no. I would never give the North away like that, nor would I leave you.” 

“Jon I’m sorry, I never meant to imply-“ She tried before he interrupted her. 

“It’s alright, I understand why you did it. You were just thinking ahead for us.” His voice had grown thicker, the words coming out rough. The look in his eyes brought her more pain than she thought possible. “I am grateful to you for it. More than you know. You don’t have to worry though.”

“I don’t?”

“No Sansa, you don’t. I will protect our home and you at all costs. I love both with everything I have.” Running his hand through his hair, he smiled, but it looked so haunted. “Even if I’m a fool for doing so.”

Perching back up to his full height, he let his hands hang by his side. He stared at her, capturing every detail. Those shining eyes, darkened with what he assumed to be fear. How stern her mouth was set, though he could still see the fullness of her lips, plump and raw from where she had bitten them down. Her face was all he wanted to see that night. It was the only face he wanted to see ever again. He would never forget the details, for as long as he lived. The face of the one he fell in love with.

“Jon..” The words come out so soft, he almost didn’t catch them. The sound made his heart clench. He knew what was coming, knew from their talk earlier. Truth be told, he didn’t think he could take hearing them come out her mouth, even after all this time. It was possible they might hurt him more than any sword could.

“You don’t have to say anything. Thank you for dinner, Sansa.” Turning his back on her, he slowly made his way to the door. “I can show myself out.”

“Jon wait!” As he stopped to look over his shoulder, Sansa made her way around the table. “You said your part in all of this. I think it’s only fair I should say mine as well.”

“I already know what you’re going to say.” Stopping in her tracks, she began shaking her head, trying to get him to stop what he was saying. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t hold any truth. “I do. I know you want us to go back to how things were before. I wanted that too. I had hoped after tonight we could make amends, even forget the thing that brought us to this.”

“But seeing your face, knowing what you think, I don’t believe we can. You could never see me as anything more than...not how I would want.” 

Turning away again, he ignored her pleads, her calling his name to stay. He had almost reached the door, hoping he would be able to leave without letting her finish.

“Damn you, Jon! For once will you just stop and listen to me?” Her chest was heaving in and out so fast, her breaths could barely keep up with what she was saying. “You have no idea why I asked you here.”

Hand hanging onto the handle, he froze. Without even having to look at her, he knew Sansa was angry. No, not angry. Jon knew how she sounded when she was upset about something. This wasn’t it, and it moved him enough to let go of that handle. To turn around in time to see her pace away, arms wrapped around herself tightly.

Swallowing, Jon knew he shouldn’t even ask, if the reason was about what he assumed it to be. But he had to know for sure.  _ Nothing goes left unsaid.  _ “Then why did you ask me here? If not to talk about everything else, then why?”

Straining, he could barely hear her mumbled reply.

“I can’t hear you.” Stepping cautiously, Jon moved further back into the room. 

Whirling around, her face was screwed with emotion. “You were right. About it all. About everything.”

Eyes wide, Jon was too numb with shock to speak. She couldn’t mean what he thought.

Eyes cast down, Sansa rubbed at her palm. “Growing up, I thought I knew what it was to love, to be loved by another. Like how mother and father had loved each other.” Scoffing and partly closing her eyes, a tight smile stretched across her face. “Listening to all those silly tales when I was a child, I believed Joffrey to be just like those princes and knights.” 

“I thought I loved him, but now I know I never did.” As she tilted her head a bit, wiping her face, Jon realized she had been holding back tears. Slowly, step by step, she started coming forward. “I was just illusioned into thinking that was what love was supposed to be.”

Watching her, as if she was unsure of what she was saying, what she was doing, Jon didn’t move even the slightest. He didn’t want anything to interrupt her words. For her to stop.

“I’ve never known what love is. What it was supposed to be.” Lifting her head, Sansa eyes met Jon’s, her voice carrying over with a whisper. “Not until now that is. Not until you.”

Taking in a sharp breath of air, he waited until she stood in front of him. Mere inches from him, their chests almost touching, he was sure she could feel how hard his heart was beating. He didn’t break the hold she had on him right then. Not even as her hands came up to rest on his shoulders. His eyes fluttering, as they glided slowly up his neck, leaving his skin prickling from the sensation.

“You weren’t wrong Jon.” Not taking her eyes away from his, Sansa cupped each side of his face. “You weren’t alone in your feelings, I just hadn’t come to realize mine yet.”

“Sansa,” He said breathlessly. Placing his hands on her waist, as lightly as he could, Jon waited. He needed to hear her say it. He wanted to. 

“I thought for the longest that I would never find love. That maybe I wasn’t meant for it. I was even afraid of it for a while, because of what wanting it had done for me in the past.” As Sansa’s eyes moved back and forth between Jon’s, she felt a warmth spread through her. Like a fire burning inside her, begging to come out. “Now though, I don’t want to be afraid. I have never felt like this, and it scares me, but I will not deny that it’s what I want too.”

As she brought his face to her, their foreheads rested against one another. “You called yourself a fool for loving me so deeply. If that is true, then I am a fool too.”

Closing her eyes, Sansa lightly brushed her lips against Jon’s. Pulling back, she whispered, “I love you Jon. With everything I have.” 

Reaching up, he cupped her cheek, bringing their mouths back together. As he tightened his hold on her, Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck, turning, as Jon deepened the kiss. They stayed locked in each other’s arms, losing themselves in the way each felt.

Parting his lips, Jon’s tongue grazed Sansa’s lips softly, waiting for permission. When she opened her mouth, Sansa’s tongue meeting his, a soft moan surfaced from within her. She had never known passion such as this. Never thought it possible for her. To be held in a man’s arms, knowing he would never hurt her. To be kissed as if she were a gift from the Gods themselves. 

In turn, Jon held onto Sansa, like he didn’t think she was actually there. That maybe this was a dream, it wasn’t real. His hands glided across her back, her hips, back up to her face. She tasted sweet, like the wine she had sipped through dinner. Smiling against her mouth, he kissed her so fervently. Like a man starved. Like it would be his last time to do so. 

**

They sat together, Sansa’s head resting against his chest. Her arms were wrapped around his waist as best she could manage, legs curled under her dress on the settee. Jon had his left arm around her shoulder and his right hand resting against her wrapped ones.

Watching the fire crackle, both of them felt nothing but peace. All their fights, the tension, it was gone. And it felt good. Sighing, Sansa snuggled in closer. 

“Jon, tell me about your time as Lord Commander.”

Tensing up, Jon pulled forward slightly, gazing down at her. He had forgotten she asked him to tell her about the story earlier in the Godswood. Although he considered not telling her, knowing she doesn’t deserve to hear of those gruesome details, it’s also Sansa. Jon could tell her anything. Maybe it was time someone else knew the truth of what had happened.

Leaning back, he sighed, absently rubbing circles on the top of her hand. 

“Alright, well I should start at the beginning. I was elected after coming back from my hunt. It was time to select a new Lord Commander and my name was thrown in for consideration. I ended up being chosen after the Maester at the time placed in his vote, breaking the tie against Ser Alliser Thorne.”

“Some men absolutely despised that I had been elected. One even went as far as disobeying my orders, naming me a bastard in front of all the men.”

“And what did you do?” 

“Well, with men like that, who hold no respect for your authority, there’s no other choice but to punish them. So I ordered for him to be taken out to the block and Longclaw to be brought.” When he hesitated to go on, Sansa squeezed his hand, assuring him it was okay. She could handle it. “Father always told us that the man who passed the sentence should swing the sword, so I knew it had to be me who did the deed. As Lord Commander, I couldn’t let this slide. There was an example to be made for disobeying a direct order.”

“When I made my way through the grounds, up to the perch, I could hear Ser Janos’ screams and shouts from all around. His claims to having friends in the capital, our regret we-” 

Sansa sat up immediately, cutting off the rest of Jon’s sentence. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were wide. Thinking he had said too much, Jon offered to stop. 

“You said Ser Janos? As in Ser Janos Slynt, former Commander of the City Watch?” Her eyes grew dark with hatred, leaving Jon no choice but to answer her truthfully. 

“Yes. The very same.” He replied, curious as to how she knew that.

“I knew him. Knew him and hated him. He’s the one that dragged father and threw him to Ser Ilyn to behead. All while I was forced to watch.” Swiping a loose strand of hair away from her face, she continued. “After, whenever I’d see him I wanted nothing more than to hurt him, to make him feel the same pain I had that day. But I was just a little girl then, so instead, I prayed for a hero to do it for me, to take his head in the same way they took father’s. And years later, it seems one finally did.”

Bringing his hand up, Jon gently stroked Sansa’s cheek, a tear falling onto his thumb when it passed near her eye. 

“I’m so sorry Sansa. I hate you had to go through all of that. I sometimes wish I had never joined the Night’s Watch. Maybe I could have gone South when all of this happened. I could of helped stop it. Saved you and Arya.” Sansa shook her head, placing her hand over his, keeping it against her cheek.

“There’s no way to know if that’s how it would have happened Jon. It’s in the past now though. What’s done is done. We shouldn’t dwell on the things we can’t change.” Leaning back into his side, Sansa sat in silence, waiting for Jon to continue. 

As he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, easier now that she was in the same position as he was, Jon reached over to kiss her temple. Letting his nose rest against her hair, he mulls over whether this was a good idea to tell the story. “Are you sure you want me to finish? We don’t have to talk about my time anymore, if you don’t want to.”

“Please finish your story. I’m fine, I promise.” Turning, Sansa buries her head into his shoulder. Letting them have another moment of silence, Jon finally went on. 

“Some point after...that, I traveled far north to Hardhome, a village of Wildlings. With an army of dead marching on us all, I pleaded with them to fight alongside us. What I offered in return was safe passage South of the wall and land to live on.” Clutching her free hand in his again, he rested it on their joined thighs, turning it over and over. “At first none of them agreed. Hell, some even threatened to kill me because I was the enemy.”

As the memory started coming back, a chill spread through Jon the same way it had that day at the Wildling camp. His grip on Sansa tightened, enough for her to pull her head from him. All she saw on his face was terror. So pure, she felt it start to run through herself. He had never looked this way before. 

“Even after all our efforts, only a few thousand agreed to go with us, risking the odds better with the enemy than the dead.” Jon kept his eyes steady on the fire, watching the flames dance, oblivious to anything but his own words. “We thought we would get another chance. Just give them time to come around to the offer. Then the animals started crying, and the wind began to blow harsher, bringing an icy fog with it. We were out of time. The dead had come.” 

Exhaling a shaky breath, Jon blinked and shook his head a bit, looking a bit dazed. When he turned his head to her, he was pale as snow. Lightly, Sansa stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. 

“That’s how you got the rest to join you then?” Her question coming out softer than a whisper. 

“Yes. They had no choice but to fight with us or join the dead. But even then, most of the rest of them had already died when the white walkers got there.”

Swallowing thickly, Jon got up, leaving Sansa even colder than the story had. Walking to the fire, he used one of the pokers to move the wood around. The only sound left in the small room was cracking from the turned wood, as the heat soaked it up.

After a moment, Jon stood, and retook his spot on the settee. Laying his hand on his leg again, he left it facing up, waiting. Lacing their fingers together, Sansa curled back into Jon, the fear from earlier still gripping onto her. 

“So, you brought the Wildlings back with you.” When Jon didn’t respond, she tried again. “Which worked out well for both of us.”

Nodding his head, Jon reluctantly picked up where he had left off. “Aye, it did work out for both of us in time. But when I got back to Castle Black, a majority of my brothers were upset about the choice I’d made. No Wildling had been South of the wall like that. I just didn’t know how angry they were with me until that night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Later that evening, when most of the castle was asleep, my steward, Olly, came to me and said someone had news of Uncle Benjen. That they knew what happened to him.” Sansa gasped. She remembered when her father had received news of their uncle disappearing, without a trace left behind. 

“They found him?” A sick feeling started in her stomach again. She knew better than to have such hope their uncle was really alive. 

“I thought so. No one had heard anything in years, but I believed him. I wanted it to be true. So I ran to the courtyard to speak with the person who had this information, but when I came to greet them, all that was there was a sign that read traitor. It was a lie.” 

“When I turned around, demanding for an explanation, I was surrounded. The next thing I knew, Ser Alliser had taken out a dagger and stabbed me in the chest.” Sitting up again, Sansa gaped at Jon. Shaking her head, she hoped he was lying, perhaps playing a joke on her. He was here with her. When his expression didn’t change, she started to shake. 

“One by one, my brothers stabbed me. Olly was the last one.” Sansa tried her hardest not to let loose anymore tears, but she couldn’t take it. It wasn’t possible, he was right in front of her, alive and whole. “They left me there, lying in my own blood, to either freeze or bleed out. I remember taking my last breath, and then there was nothing.” 

Jon stopped to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He remembered every detail from that night up until his last breath. That night had been freezing, and it kept getting colder, as it had seeped into him, filling every inch until it was just ice. It was one of the worst feelings ever, knowing you were about to die. He never spoke about this with anyone. He had never wanted to. Ser Davos occasionally brought it up, until Jon would switch the conversation to something else. But here he was now, telling the woman he loved how he died. 

Coming back to himself, Jon took Sansa’s hands in his. They were shaking, and she was struggling to hold back. Trying his best, he rubbed them together, to show her he was really there. 

“Jon,” Her voice already cracking, “please tell me you’re not being serious. If you..you were stabbed, then you, that means..” She broke off with a sob, unable to finish.

“Hush, it’s alright Sansa, I’m here.” Wrapping her in his arms, Jon pulled Sansa onto his lap, letting her rest her head against his chest, as he ran his hand over it. “It did happen. I..It did. Ser Davos and Tormund were both there, saw me laid out over my desk.”

“They thought it was over. Until the red woman, Melisandre, showed up. Davos had known her from before so he ordered her to bring me back. Begged her to because my life wasn’t over yet. So, she performed her ritual and it worked. When I came to, I was delirious, I didn’t know where I was. Until Davos retold the tale, and that’s when I remembered.”

Sansa’s fingers dug into Jon’s jerkin, so hard they were beginning to get numb. If it hurt him, Jon didn’t say a word of it. “When everything was settled, I walked out of my office, and as my last act as Lord Commander, I hung every mutineer that took part in it, even Olly, who was just a boy.” Gently pulling Sansa’s face back, Jon sees that it’s red and wet. Wiping away her tears, he holds her face in his hands, so he can look straight into her eyes.

“I had given my life for the watch, therefore my watch had ended and I held no vows to them. That’s why I’m not Lord Commander anymore.” Lightly kissing her forehead, Jon closes his eyes as Sansa wraps her arms around his neck. “I hadn’t planned on staying. I was going to travel South, maybe even across the sea, to start a new life while I had the time. But then you rode in on a dying horse, and I knew nothing else mattered other than doing everything possible to keep you safe.”

“ _ Jon.”  _ Sansa whimpered, unable to pry her head from his chest.

They sit there embraced in each other’s arms, seeking comfort for a while. Sansa’s heart laid heavily for Jon. Her poor Jon, betrayed and slain for having a good heart. For doing what was right.  _ Almost in the way father died. _

If he hadn’t been brought back, he wouldn’t have been there to help her and she would have been sent back to Ramsay immediately. Except she wouldn’t have made it back alive. She would never had gone back to him. 

Exhausted with the days happenings, Sansa finally released her hold on Jon and stood, though he reluctantly let go. Taking his hand in hers, she silently waited until he stood up also. Standing tall, Jon looked as tired as Sansa felt. 

Placing her hand on his cheek, his eyes closed at with the immediate contact. Reaching up, she kissed his lips, before turning to make the small trek to her bed chamber, leading a confused Jon in tow. 

Looking around, Jon barely remembered what the Lord’s chambers looked like, seeing as he rarely ever stepped foot in them. The bed was vast in size, filled with many furs draping the top, as expected. There was a small hearth in the center, straight across from where the bed was placed, a small fire still going.

Stopping short of her bed, Sansa turned to face Jon, placing her hands next to the ties that held his jerkin together. As she started to loosen the ties, Jon grabbed her hands, stopping her.

“Sansa, wha-“

“It’s okay Jon, nothing is going to happen. Just relax.” Bringing his arms back down, she pulled again, riding him of his leathers. She gently placed them on her chair.

Pulling back the furs on her bed, she looked over her shoulder at him and said, “Take your boots off and lay down.”

Waiting to make sure she was serious, Jon did as he was told. Meanwhile Sansa moved behind the screen divider and began to pull at the ties holding her dress until it finally pooled at her feet. Slipping into a shift and grabbing a robe to cover more, she finally stepped back toward the bed. 

Nearing close, she sees Jon look away, but not before she noticed the red tinge coloring his cheeks. Smiling to herself, she continued padding to him, her feet getting cold from the granite.

Coming to a stop in front of his person, Jon looked up at her. A small smile appeared on both their faces, as he reached to tuck a stray lock behind her ear. Sighing softly, Jon finally laid back, making room for Sansa to join him.

Climbing into the bed with him, Sansa leaned over to blow out the candles she lit on her side table. The only light in the dark room now was coming from the fire. Covering themselves, Sansa adjusted so her head would lay on Jon’s chest, the beating of his heart soothing her. Wrapping his arm around her, Jon let his hand rest on Sansa’s hip, the other on his stomach.

Letting the fire and the furs warm them, they lay there, the night and cold drifting away.

  
  


**********

  
  


“I still awaken throughout the night, you know, fearing that it never happened, that I am still there.”

The embers in the fire began to dwindle, casting shadows throughout the chamber. Jon doesn’t say a word as he threw another log in, before going to slip back into bed. Turning on his side to face her, Jon mirrored her position. He lets her speak, knowing she, same as him, rarely talk about what keeps them up at night.

“It sounds almost foolish of me to admit this out loud, especially knowing that it was me who led him to his death.” Sansa says as she stares across the room at the freshly fed fire, lost in thought. “It’s sort of poetic in its own way, that it was by his own dogs. I’m almost positive that if it were someone else, Ramsay would have been proud of the idea. If he had been capable of feeling anything at all that is.”

As she balls her fist into the sheets, Jon thinks of the right thing to say, until he realizes there isn’t anything he can tell her. Not anything that would make any of it better. Instead he settles for saying what he knows is true. 

“Sansa, I can’t even begin to imagine the horror you went through while you were imprisoned.” He slowly edges closer to her and takes her hand, laying it between them. “If I had known sooner that any of that was happening, I would have rode down to Winterfell, army of many or just one, and given that bastard all he deserved and far worse. For you, I would have done anything to ensure your safety. Just as I have promised to continue doing so.”

Sansa quickly turned to Jon, her voice harsh enough that he has to keep himself from flinching. “You didn’t know Jon, how could you have? I have no doubt in my mind that you would have done exactly that. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have our home back, none of the houses would be pledged to House Stark again, and I for one might not even be alive.” 

Gripping his hand harder, Sansa took a small breath, calming herself again.

“I am truly grateful to you Jon, for everything you have done for me and our home. You turned my nightmare into something I will never again have to fear.” Bringing his hand to her lips, she kisses his knuckles. “You’ve given me so much more than I asked for. More than I thought I could want.” 

Slowly, Jon takes his hand from hers, placing it lower, down to her hip. Pulling gently, he brings her body close to his, until there is hardly any space between them anymore. Her hands reaching, finding their place on his shoulders. Leaning their heads against each other, Jon watches the shadows dance across her milky skin. The way her hair cascades across the pillow, down behind her, it’s own fire, burning bright. She looked Heavenly right then.

“It wasn’t just me Sansa, you brought the Knights of the Vale. Without them neither of us would be here. You said earlier, I was a hero for beheading one of the men who betrayed our father.” He murmured, softly caressing her cheek. As her eyes fluttered closed, her skin prickling, she could feel his breath fanning her face. It felt absolutely divine. “But that day? You were the hero, for yourself, and everyone included.” 

Fingers digging into his shirt, Sansa’s breathing picked up. “It was you who put everything on the line for me, just so I would not have to go back to that hell.” Opening her eyes, they find Jon’s, usually gray but in the dim light, a molten black. “I don’t believe you realize how much it all meant to me. How much you really mean to me.”

Pulling him close, Sansa crushes her mouth against his. Gripping onto the side of her face, Jon relishes on how intoxicating it feels to kiss her. Lacing his fingers into her silky hair, bliss runs through his veins, making him light as the air.

Squirming closer than possible, Sansa runs her hands across his chest, up his neck, his skin burning her fingers from their shared heat. She yearned for that excitement from before. As heat pooled, she dared to try something new. Biting Jon’s bottom lip, she sucked lightly, causing a deep guttural sound to come from his throat. 

Moving his hands down, Jon pulled himself up onto one elbow, never breaking their kiss. Gingerly, he started to move his lips away from Sansa’s mouth, along her face, until he dipped down to her neck. Pressing softly, he made a trail down the side, drawing out soft gasps each time his lips touched her skin.

Nipping a little, he smiled when she started giggling. Pulling back up, Jon gazes down at Sansa, her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling up at him. Reaching down, he placed his lips back on hers, moving slowly, their tongues dancing. 

Breaking away finally, both were out of breath, their panting loud in the quiet room. Smiling sheepishly, Sansa is the one to break the silence. 

“I suppose we should get some rest for tomorrow, “ Sansa softly mutters, “Who knows what new surprise it will bring.”

“Of course,” Jon replied, leaning down one last time. “Goodnight Sansa.” 

Readjusting their positions, Sansa faces away from Jon, her back pressed to his chest. Wrapping his arms around her, Jon holds Sansa to him, his head resting just above hers.

Unable to help himself, Jon breathed in deeply, relishing in her sweet scent of honey and lavender. Gods, how he wished they could stay like this forever.

“Goodnight Jon..”

  
  


**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So pretty cool fact, Vela and I are heading to ACE Comic Con in Chicago and got a photo opp with KIT and GWEN!!! Along with some other pretty cool guests and we are so excited! We have never attended one of these events and cannot wait! Anyway I wanna give out a huge THANK YOUUUU to all you lovely people who have subscribed/bookmarked to this work, it means the absolute world ❤️


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I know that we haven't posted in a while, and we feel awful about it. Just with school winding down to finals and work getting crazier, Valy and I haven't been able to work on the fic like we really wanted to. We really do appreciate all of you being so patient with us, so to make up for it, here is a little fluff that we hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Chapters 7 will be posted hopefully within the next week, so for now, please enjoy and drop some comments below!
> 
> -Vela

Blinking a few times, Sansa glanced around her chambers, trying to find the noise that had woken her. Slowly raising herself to get a better look, she felt an arm snake it’s way around her waist. Quickly looking behind her, she found Jon, still fast asleep. Relieved, she smiled to herself, reaching over to move a few curls that were covering his eyes. Softly stirring a bit, Jon wrapped himself around her even more, causing Sansa to stifle a laugh. 

Going back to looking around, when she didn’t see anything, she closed her eyes again, curling back into the furs.  _ Clink-clink.  _ There it was again. Straining, she listened carefully until she heard what it was. A few voices on the other end of her door to the solar, she heard the chambermaids.

_ Oh Gods! I’d completely forgotten I told them to clean the trays in the morning!  _ She thought while frantically untangling herself from Jon’s grasp and the furs. _ They can’t find Jon here, not like this! _

Hurrying to her door, she threw it open, finding two chambermaids; one cleaning the table from the night’s dinner and the other sweeping out the ashes from the fire pit, with more wood for later. Hearing the door open, both women looked her way, immediately halting their actions.

Shutting her door, Sansa smoothed out her hair, and offered a curt nod as they both curtsied. “My Lady,” The older of the two said. “We hope we didn’t wake you too early.”

“Not at all Fryda, it’s fine.” 

Teya, the younger maiden stepped forward and gestured to Sansa’s chambers. “Would you like for us to begin remaking your bed? It’s almost time to break our fast, my lady.”

“No!” Sansa exclaimed, stepping back in front of her door, startling the two women. Clearing her throat, she thought of a quick excuse. “I mean, I would like that yes. But in a little while, when I take my morning wash? That way neither of you are running back and forth too much.”

Exchanging a look, the women agree, though a bit thrown off from their usual routine. As they continue to clean up, Sansa watched them, eager for them to hurry. Offering polite smiles when either of them glanced her way, Sansa made due with untying and retying her robe, praying that this didn’t take much longer. As both women finished, gathering the mess, Sansa escorted them on their way out.

“Oh, Lady Sansa,” Fryda said, turning back around, Teya patiently waiting for her in the doorway. “I’m sorry to intrude further, but have you heard from the King? We already sent new bedding and wood to his chambers, but the maidens who went said it wasn’t needed? He didn’t sleep there during the night.”

Pausing, Sansa draws a confused look on her face, before continuing. “He must have went back to his office after he left here last night. I’m sure he had pressing matters that still needed his attention, and decided to sleep there for the night.” 

Before either of them could speak, Sansa grabbed hold of the door, and ushered them out, reminding them to come back later with water for her bath. After she had shut the door, she leaned against it and sighed, grateful she was able to keep them from entering her room and seeing Jon had actually stayed here with her instead. The talk that would explode through Winterfell would be rich, she knew it.

Hurrying back, she quickly entered her chambers, only to find that none of the noise had woken Jon at all. He was still sprawled in her bed, sheets tangled, wrapped around his body like ropes. Exhaling loudly, Sansa went over, sitting tentatively on the edge, and began nudging him awake. 

“Jon...Jon, wake up.” Grunting in annoyance, Jon muttered something under his breath about being too warm to leave. Chuckling and rolling her eyes, Sansa nudged him harder. “Jon, come on, I know you’re awake. I’ve sent the chambermaids away but I don’t know how long it will be until they’re back. You have to leave.”

Cracking his eye open, Jon lulled his head to the side and looked at Sansa, his vision still blurry from sleep. “You know, I was hoping for a better awakening than ‘Get out’ and a bunch of shoving.” Closing his eyes, and raising his arms behind his head, a playful smirk appeared on his face. “Kissing would have been great, maybe pick up where we had left off.”

Grabbing one of her pillows, Sansa lightly hit him in the face with it. “Jon! That’s not funny!” She said trying to sound scolding, but the laughter in her voice had already given her away. “I’m being serious, they’ll be back soon.”

Sitting up, Jon moved the pillow away from his face, a mischievous glint in his eyes now. “Playing rough now then? Not what I expected from a lady such as yourself, but two can play this game.” 

Quickly reaching, Jon barely missed Sansa, who had jumped up, squealing in surprise. Getting to his feet, he started after her, knocking the furs off the bed in the process. Leisurely running after her, Jon finally caught up to Sansa, throwing his arms up to wrap around her. Before he fully wrap them around her, Sansa ducked under him, lightly grazing her hand across his arm. 

Giggling, Sansa ran towards one of her chairs, getting behind it just in time. As she held onto the back of it, she eyed Jon, who was now sauntering over to her, a cheeky grin taking up half of his face. If she were being honest, she actually liked the idea of him catching her. It gave her an exhilarating rush, one she hadn’t known in years. 

“Now, now Sansa, that was clever. You’re fast.” Jon mused, getting closer. “But I can do this longer than you think. I like chasing you...and if I had to guess, I think that you enjoy it just as much as I do.” 

Licking his lips, Jon’s eyes roamed down Sansa’s body slowly, a yearning, ravenous look appearing in them. One that made Sansa dizzy with lust, wanting him to take those lips of his and kiss her well below her neck. 

“Just think of how much fun we could really have if we were closer.” He murmured, standing only a few feet away from her chair now.

Swallowing thickly, Sansa tilted her head, slyly replying, “Well you’re going to have to catch me first.” Biting the edge of her lip, she waited, enjoying the game even more now. 

Moving side to side, Jon carefully watched Sansa’s movements, as they matched his own. They were only just a bit slower. Feinting left then right, he waited for her to turn to run to her left, before he went after her. Running up behind, Jon was able to wrap his arms around Sansa before she could get away. 

Yelping in surprise, Sansa started laughing beyond her control. Jon’s arms came up to cover hers, keeping them pressed to her chest. Pulling her flush against his body, he bent his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling slowly, humming in delight at how sweet she still smelled. 

“I told you it would be more enjoyable if we were closer.” He purred into her ear, the sound making her knees weak. Her laughs from before, were now dying, turning to gasps of delight from how close he was to her now. Moving her back slightly, Sansa could feel the muscles in Jon’s chest and stomach, firm and strong. As he adjusted his arms, bringing her further against him, she couldn’t help the soft gasp that made its way out her mouth as she felt something firm against her hip. 

“Okay,” She panted, out of breath, “What now, now that you’ve caught me?”

Swiftly turning her to face him, Jon ducked before Sansa could protest, lifting her up and over his shoulder.

“By the Seven, Jon! What are you doing?!” She cried out, rapping her fists against his back.

“You asked what was next.” He barked out with laughter, spinning her slowly around the room, careful not to hit anything. 

“Yes, but this isn’t what I had in mind!” She replied hotly, still hitting him.

“Aye, then what was it you had in mind?” Stopping, he adjusted his grip on her. “Tell me sweet girl. What do  **_you_ ** want?” 

Cheeks flaming, even if she wasn’t facing him, she heard the taunting in his voice, daring her to say what she really wanted. He had to know how much this was affecting her, the games and playing around. Ceasing her slaps against him, Sansa rested her palms flat on his back, the heat from his body oozing into her. Softly rubbing small circles with her fingers, she used the sweetest voice she could gather. “I will gladly tell you Jon, when you  **_put me down_ ** .”

“As my Lady commands.” Turning, Jon made his way to the bed, depositing her on it as gracefully as he could. Kneeling in front of her, he placed his hands on either side of her, smiling sheepishly up at her. “Now, sweet girl, what did you have in mind?”

Wanting to stay angry at how he had unexpectedly lifted her the way he did, the way he called her that, with such adoration in his eyes, Sansa knew she couldn’t. Returning his smile, she leaned forward, placing her hands just above his, their fingertips hardly touching. 

“You said we would have fun,” She breathed, smiling coyly, “and now we’re closer.”

A low purr rumbled in Jon’s chest as he moved up off his knees, moving up onto the bed, as Sansa leaned back onto her elbows. Stretching across her, Jon used his arms to hover over her, while the weight of his legs made the bed sink, as they moved between her parted legs. Lowering himself, his mouth brushed over her ear as he softly spoke, “Tell me what you think would be fun, I want to hear it come from your lips.”

Shivering, Sansa leaned all the way down onto the bed, bringing her hands up to his sides, the cotton of his shirt soft against her fingers. As she glided them slowly up his back, bringing him down to her, his eyes fluttered at her touch. Ecstasy filled her, rushing through her body just knowing she was the one making him do that.

“Kiss me,” She urged, “now, please, I want you to kiss me.”

Not waiting any longer, Jon crushed his mouth on hers, closing the space between them. Sinking deeper, Jon let his other arm roam further down, until he reached her thigh, just above her knee. Reaching, he hooked her leg around his hip, a soft moan escaping Sansa at the new position. It brought them closer than before, and it was like nothing she had imagined. A throbbing heat had begun to make itself known again, centered straight between her thighs.

Breaking the kiss, Sansa moved Jon’s head lower, his mouth latching onto the curve of her neck, smattering small pecks along her skin. Parting her lips, she gasped out shaky breaths when he swept lower, until he was at the base of her neck, where it met her chest.

“Oh, Jon,” She said, her own hands roaming down to where his shirt ended. Reaching underneath, her fingers lightly grazed his stomach, the muscles taut and lean to the touch. Pressing her hands more firmly, his body hot against her, she slowly massaged her hands towards his back, pulling him further into her. Hooking her other leg around him, Sansa felt more than heard Jon gasp out, the warm air from his mouth brushing over her collar, making her skin prickle. The lower parts of their bodies were almost completely against each other. 

“Sansa, wait.” Jon groaned out as he leaned up a bit to meet her face. His eyes were completely black, pupils sucking out any color from them. Catching his breath, he sighed, “I think we should stop our fun here.”

“Stop?” Sansa asked, thinking it had been going very well actually, like the awakening they should of had. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Huffing out, Jon lifted up, untangling himself from her, and sat up on his side, elbow bent under his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I like this, a lot really. But I don’t want to rush you.” Gliding his finger down the side of her face, he went on. “I don’t want to scare you, sweetling.”

“Jon, you could never scare me.” Sansa said, sitting up, her body angled towards him. Smiling, she felt her cheeks getting hotter from what she was thinking. “I liked where we were going. It’s not like anything I’ve ever experienced before.”

A grin brightened up his face as Jon leaned over, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. “I did too.”

Standing, he reached down, taking Sansa’s hand to help her up. Cupping his hands on either side of her head, he smiled before resting his head against hers. “But, if we continue, I don’t think we’ll stop anytime soon. And you said yourself, the chambermaids will be back soon. I have to leave.” 

“Oh! I had completely forgotten about them.” Sansa replied, embarrassment colorfully written on her cheeks. Pulling away, Jon’s hands fell away from her face, down to where she went to grip them in hers. “You’re right, you should go. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your royal duties any longer than I have already. Your absence has been noted enough.”

Laughing aloud, Jon squeezed her hands, the gleam in his eyes and rumple to his hair, making him look young and boyish. Promising to himself to always remember this moment, Jon can’t get over how ethereal she looks after waking up. He nods his head.

“Alright, alright, I'm going. But I don't know how I'm supposed to go about my day without wanting to hold you and kiss you like a man does a woman. Will you come meet me at the broken tower for a moment away from anyone and anything? Just you and I?” Pondering over her day, Sansa agrees, knowing she would likely be feeling the same way. 

“Of course Jon, anything. Now get out of here, seriously!” Playfully pushing him, she helps him gather his things, and ushers him out into her solar. Going to the door, Sansa peeks her head out, assuring him that they were in the clear. 

“Wait, one more before I go.” Cupping the back of her neck, Jon leans in to taste her lips once more, savoring how amazing it feels to be able to do so. “I’ll see you after midday.” 

Grinning, Sansa shuts the door as he leaves. Turning around, she leaned against it again, though this time she didn’t feel anxious or worried. The only thing she felt was a lightness in her chest, matching the grin on her face. Sighing, she looks around, deciding she had better prepare for the day, seeing as the maidens will be back soon.

Walking back to her chambers, Sansa falters in her steps a bit, realizing something she never thought would happen: she didn’t wake up once during the night.

  
  


**********


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the later update than anticipated however it was crazy hectic with work and finals week for school! But we are officially back and ready to write our hearts out! We hope you enjoy the new update and drop some comments! 
> 
> P.s. we really appreciate everyone who has been patient and sticking with us since the beginning, and you are all the best!! And to anyone who is just joining us, welcome and enjoy :) 
> 
> -Vela

Carefully eyeing the few bystanders here and there, Jon made his way towards the broken tower, trying not to look so suspicious. It was actually quite difficult to keep the smile off his normally brooding face when he knew that Sansa was most likely waiting for him. He had been thinking of her the entire day, since he left her chambers that morning. He felt easier than he had in weeks, considering everything that had happened so far. 

All of the tension that had been going around Winterfell and the surrounding areas, even at the wall, it had been driving everyone on edge. It had been all very stressful, trying to get everything back to normal, sending ravens out to all the Houses who would come, reestablishing allegiances, arguments here and there. Each morning he woke up completely exhausted from the previous day, just to start it over again. With war on the horizon, he knew it was only a matter of time, their days were practically numbered. But, even after all of this, he noticed how some of the Northern folk still tried to keep their spirits, spend time with the ones they loved. 

Yes, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. But until the war came, winter and the long night with it, and they had to fight for all they had, Jon was going to live for the moments he had now. He was going to give his all to the woman he loved as well, anything else be damned. Chuckling to himself, Jon wound up the remaining stairs, reaching the top. Stopping to catch his breath, he slowly opened the cracked door, the worn iron groaning from the movement.

Glancing across the room, towards the window, Sansa stood there, hands on the ledge, looking out. Turning towards the door from the new noise, her eyes met Jon’s, a smile brightening her face. The lighting from the window shone behind her, cascading in a way that made her glow. She looked absolutely stunning, so much so, that Jon stayed rooted in place, in complete awe of how surreal it all was. 

“Hi,” she said, breaking the silence and trance he had been in. 

Sheepishly grinning, Jon went to Sansa, stopping just in front of her. Taking her hand in his, he lifted it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Hi yourself.” Smiling still, Jon weaved their fingers together, and looked out the window. “What were you looking at before I came in?” 

“I was staring at nothing really, just the snow and trees.” Sansa replied, leaning into Jon’s shoulder as they looked together. “Winter always looks more beautiful when the snow is untouched. Or at least I believe it does.” 

Nodding his head, Jon finds he can’t help agreeing with her. Though he didn’t entirely enjoy the bitter wind, even if he was used to it, especially since it was less harsh than his time at the wall, he thought that the forest did look beautiful. Peaceful even. 

“How has your morning gone?” Sansa asked him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. 

“Very slow and boring,” Jon grumbled out, shaking his head, “I would have much preferred staying with you.” 

Pulling back, Sansa gave him an astonished and exaggerated gasp, “And miss out on all your duties?”

Grinning, he leaned down to her ear, gruffly replying, “Well it would have been more fun listening to your noise complaints than those of old men.” 

Moving to stand in front of him and reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, Sansa brought Jon’s face to her, pecking him on the lips. “Well if it was that awful,” she said in between kisses, “let me see if I can make it any better.”

Sliding his hands over her hips, Jon brings Sansa against him, their bodies connecting almost perfectly, just as their mouths have. Relishing in the softness of his lips, Sansa shifts her feet backwards and moves them slowly away from the window. As she snakes her fingers through Jon’s hair, softly tugging at the ends, a low moan rumbles in his throat, the sound vibrating against her lips. 

Pushing her against a nearby wall, Jon begins to slowly let his hands wander, taking in each curve and line of Sansa’s body. Letting them roam up her ribs, he gently cups one of his palms around her breast. As he began to softly knead it, Sansa moaned, a tingling sensation rippling through her, heating up her body. 

Opening his mouth slightly, Jon traced the seams of her lips, asking for permission to enter. As she parted them, their tongues meet, softly at first, getting to know how the other tastes. Tongues colliding, forming a rhythm like a dance, the kiss picks up speed. Yearning for more, Sansa slips her hands into Jon’s cloak, under his tunic, laying them firm but flat against his bare back, her fingers softly dragging down to leave indentions in the skin. Gasping at the sudden but welcome intrusion, Jon chuckled, finally pulling back.

“It seems as if someone is a bit eager.” Cupping both of her breasts now, he gazed into her eyes, pupils blown so wide he can barely see their color. “Now, what do you suppose we do about this, hmm my Lady?” 

Dipping down before she can reply, Jon begins to trace a line of slow kisses down Sansa’s throat, and back to the base of her ear. All while brushing his thumbs along the place where her nipples would be, making them hard enough that he can feel them through the material of her dress. Arching her back, Jon hears Sansa lowly moan his name, her hands gripping his back tighter. Desperately wanting to hear that glorious sound again, he began to lightly glide the tip of his tongue along her jawline, moving down her neck again to where the top of her dress started.

Slowly unbuttoning the neck, and pulling some of the fabric down, Jon keeps licking until he reached the dip in her chest, at the top of her breasts. Nipping the skin softly, he stopped when he hears her draw a sharp breath in. As he looked up, he noticed her head rolling back while her eyes closed, her mouth parted slightly. Smiling, he nipped at it again, soothing the skin with a swipe of his tongue, and then softly suckled at it, careful to not leave a mark. 

As he moved to the skin on the other side of her chest, Jon felt Sansa grip his shoulder, light but firm enough for him to look up at her. Her cheeks were flushed with the pink tint he adored, but she looked...taken back. Reaching back to his full height, Jon leaned back to look Sansa in her eyes. 

“What’s wrong Sansa? Did I do something you didn’t like?” He asked her, worried maybe she didn’t particularly like where this had been heading. 

“No, I mean yes,” She huffed out. Clearing her throat and reaching to button her dress, Jon saw her hands were slightly shaking. “I liked what you were doing, yes. But maybe, we should stop there?” 

Trying for a smile, she continued, “You didn’t do anything I didn’t like Jon, just maybe doing this here isn’t the correct place for it?” 

Studying her, Jon wasn’t entirely convinced, but if Sansa wanted to stop, of course they would. He had told her they would go at the pace she felt most comfortable with. If the fact that is was too public bothered her, then they didn’t have to do anything more than a kiss, if that. He knew how to be patient and understanding. 

“Of course, Sansa, anything you want.” Jon assured her. Taking her hand in his, he hesitated, making sure it was alright with her. When Sansa didn’t pull away, he brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing the knuckles, like he did when he first arrived. “What do you say we take a walk through the courtyard? Or the Godswood? Only if you want of course.” 

Eyes crinkling, the way Jon loved when Sansa was happy about something, she nodded her head. “I would love to.” Reaching over, she grabbed a scarf from a chair Jon hadn’t seen when he came in, and draped it around her head, covering her hair though leaving her face mostly exposed. “Lead the way.”

Lifting his hand, he tucked a stray hair inside the cloth, before pulling it back into place, letting his hand linger. A soft smile warmed Jon’s lips as he offered his arm to Sansa. Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, the other coming to rest on top of his forearm, her smile was back, the walls up again. Though he had an idea of what it was that made her turn from earlier, Jon was relieved to see it was mostly long gone now. He hoped that with time, if she wanted, she would confide in him and in return help her heal.

Making their way to the door, she went on to say, “So, the ‘boring’ meetings you had today, was there anything of import I should know?”

Groaning, Jon puffed out little air, before going to tell her what she needed to hear. The only sound echoing was her laugh at his remarks of the lords, as they made their way down the stairs. 

  
  


**********

  
  


Walking her fingers across his chest, a soft purr escaped his lips. “Do you still believe you should be afraid of me?”

Trailing his hand down her back, Jaime relished in the smooth dips and curves of Cersei’s skin. Skin he had missed so much while he was gone. “No,” He uttered, still weary from their love making, “I don’t think so. Though with you, it’s something one should consider often.”

Chuckling, Cersei laid her head on his chest, her palm just over where his heart was. The thrum of each beat, flowing through her hand, making it jump slightly with every pulse. The heart of the man, who without a doubt, she knew loved her past everything. The one person she could rely on, who knew her whole and truthfully.

“Jaime,” she softly said, curling her fingers between the few hairs whisping about his chest. “Do you think I am a monster?” 

Shifting his body, Jaime adjusts their position enough so he can look at her. Gently, he cupped Cersei’s neck, fingers splaying behind her ear, grazing the hair at the nape of it. Looking down, he saw the uncertainty in the question, like she truly did wonder what he thought. 

Choosing his words carefully, he enunciated each, as to make she sure she didn’t misunderstand him. “You are not a monster. You did all that you had to, to survive, to ensure that we would come out on top. As we always have, and always will.” As his lips turned up at the edges, Jaime knew the smile wouldn’t reach his eyes. None of them ever did anymore. “You’re a Lannister. What do we say?”

Eyes crinkling, Cersei whispered their known words. “A Lannister always pays his debts.” 

A smirk on her lips, Cersei knows she had indeed paid her debts. For those who wronged her. Who had wronged her beloved Tommen, her gentle and caring little boy, using and playing with him to the point he didn’t know who he was anymore. Until it drove him to his death. Who murdered her sweet, innocent daughter, the gentlest of them all. But there were still a few left to return the favor. A debt too long owed that after so much time, should be given in person. 

“Our debt hasn’t yet been paid off.” Cersei said, her face twisting into its normal, cruel scowl. Removing his hand from her, Cersei sits up, the sheet falling from her body, leaving her chest exposed. “Until it has been settled, I won’t stop, not before every last one of our enemies is crushed beneath my reign. Not until _all_ of the Kingdoms remember who we are and what we do those who defy us.” 

Eyes lingering too long, Jaime finally looks back up to her face, her distraction only half working. “Say we accomplish this, by some miracle sent by the Gods, you forget that our enemies grow in numbers everyday. We couldn’t possibly defeat them all.” 

Finger caught between her teeth, Cersei let the words hang in the air, their redundancy settle. For someone who grew up under their father’s strict lessons, Cersei would have thought Jaime had learned by now that you didn’t wait for an enemy to grow. Instead, you found their weakness. And then you found a way to exploit them, crush them, burn them, destroy them from the inside then out. 

Slowly dragging her finger out her mouth, Cersei trailed it down, going between the pathway of her bosom, her stomach, then navel, until it reached her thighs. Resting it on her leg, she eyed how Jaime followed it, attention mostly on her, not her words. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Jaime. We are not going to let our enemies grow. They forget we still have allies, loyalty going back generations. Though some allies can be bought.” Easing the sheets lower, they only partially cover her hips now. “The Golden Company has added a great number to our armies, as well as a few other strategies I’ve played out already.” 

Carefully, Cersei moved to straddle Jaime, her hands perching themselves on his shoulders. “Once the final preparations have been finished, we will move to strike out any who oppose the crown. Those who oppose _us_.” 

Catching his lips before he can speak, Cersei lets the kiss linger, pulling back to look once more at her twin. Her other half. The only one she can truly trust in this world. The only one she has left. For now. 

Wrapping his arms behind her, his fingers dipping into the doughy flesh he craved, Jaime quietly asked, “What of the dragons? How do we stop an enemy with power we can’t even grasp?”

“That is something I have already considered. A nuance yes, but not unmanageable.” Leaning back and cocking her head to the side, she eyed Jaime and his relentless inability to see that they can not be stopped. “You needn’t worry about such trivial things Jaime.” 

Grunting a response, Jaime began to knead the flesh under his fingers, eliciting a soft sigh from his Queen. Drawing her body closer, Jaime let himself be carried by the next few rambling words she has set for her speak of destruction and revenge. Only answering when necessary, Jaime lets it go over him, until he hears her speak of the North. 

“...last ally to the Bastard King and his treacherous whore sister. They will all break. Those who don’t, will die along with them.”

As unease settles into his stomach, Jaime can’t help but slip the word, “All?”

Reaching up, Cersei grasps both sides of his face, making Jaime look into her eyes. Her cold, unforgiving eyes. “If they are wise, able to see past such ignorant mistakes of listening to foolish lies, then we won’t have to worry about who dies and those who get to live.” Drinking in her words, Jaime almost misses the last part, spoken softly, yet still harsh. “I am capable of mercy...especially to those I feel deserve it dear brother. Never forget that.” 

“I would never.” Jaime replied, certain he knows exactly what she means. Angling, he meets her lips, hoping they can move past this conversation. To his relief, it is exactly what they do. 

Rolling them over, Jaime never breaks hold of Cersei’s mouth, keeping the kiss going to more sensual acts. Deep in his mind, he can’t help his wandering thoughts. To those of a woman he rarely dared to remember, unless he were by himself. The very same he last saw rowing across the river lands, keeping her oath to defend that who she pled her loyalty to. 

He had always wondered whether she had made it back to the remaining Stark. If she did, and the Gods were truly merciful, he prayed she would never have to face the _forgiving_ brand of his sister.

**********

Reaching up, Maester Wolkan gently stroked the raven’s feathers, coaxing it onto his arm. As it perched on his wrist, he grabbed a bit of bread from the pan they kept in the small room. Occupying the lovely bird with the rare nourishment, Wolkan began untying the scroll attached to its leg. 

It was a non-stop arrival of raven after raven for the past few weeks since Jon Snow was first declared King in the North. Almost one every other day, sometimes even two. What messages each one held was mostly unknown, for all the Maester knew was how stressed the King was now, always sulking in his study. He hoped that soon, one would at least bring news that could lift some of the tension before the war. Either of them. 

Finally securing the new message, Wolkan stroked the raven one last time before it nestled back to the small alcove it had settled in when it first arrived. It’s eyes closed before he could even turn away. 

The weather had not been kind lately towards the birds since it had changed. Though most were already accustomed to the harsh winds of winter, it still was a big adjustment to most who had to travel constantly back and forth. The distance and more frequent stops wearing them down it seemed. 

Huffing out a sigh, Maester Wolkan began walking towards the next raven sitting at its perch, when he looked down at the scroll in his hands. Stopping in place, he froze, wide eyed, staring at it, before holding it in the light to get a better view. 

“Impossible..” He muttered to himself. “The King must read this at once.”

Quickly heading towards the door, leaving to find Jon, Maester Wolkan gripped onto the scroll, the crease in his forehead showing the worry holding tight to his chest. He hadn’t seen a seal like this before in his lifetime. Only in scriptures and books when he had studied at the Citadel. Truthfully, he had hoped the rumors were just that, rumors. 

Shaking his head, he hurried down the corridor and the stairs, out to the courtyard. He stopped and thought hard of where Jon could be, where he had said he could find him, should any need arise that sought his attention. Making his way to the Godswood, hoping to find the King there, Maester Wolkan brought his hands together, the scroll hidden in his cloak. As he walked, his fingers skimmed over the seal, pausing only to feel each of the crested heads of the dragon on it. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be separate notes from both authors:
> 
> Hey guys! Wow, times have drastically changed since we last posted. First of all, we would like to apologize for the LONG hiatus, it was very unexpected. Both Vela and I work in retail and it can go crazy from one minute to the next. And now with COVID-19, it's even more so. In the midst of everything going on, we lost our inspiration (not to mention enough time juggling our lives) but now it's back. As of right now, we are currently on a 2 week leave from work and we plan to work on our fic as much as possible! 
> 
> Wherever you are in this world, we hope everyone is being safe. Remember to wash you hands, cough/sneeze into your elbow or a tissue. Keep to social distancing if you can, we know its difficult for everyone's own situation, but it's important for your safety and others. We can all get through this, we have prevailed before. 
> 
> With this in mind, we hope you all enjoy this chapter, we will update within the next week!  
> \- Valynnica
> 
> Hello everyone, I know it's been a really long time since we last gave you guys an update and we feel really crappy about it. I know Valynnica already mentioned our work and how crazy it gets during holidays and to top it off we had some MAJOR changes at our job and it has taken its toll on us. While we appreciate everyone who has followed our work or anyone just barely signing on, we know it doesn't entirely excuse the hiatus.
> 
> I personally want to take a big responsibility in this unforeseen hiatus as I was dealing with my own situation and had to take a step back from everything in life. Valynnica has done nothing but support my decision in doing this and I literally cannot thank her enough for doing so. 
> 
> However, on a brighter note, I have been able to get better with the things I am juggling, with support from those around me, and am honestly happy to say that we are both back on track and here to share the rest of our fic with you all. As Valy said earlier, we do hope everyone stays safe out there, check on your loved ones. We will get through everything together. 
> 
> Without further ado, we give you the latest update and hope you all enjoy it!   
> -Much love, Velaria

Opening the door, Jon and Sansa entered his office, both weary from the day. After a small trek through the courtyard, a midday meal in the mess hall, and small conversations with some of the folk, it felt necessary to find some peaceful time. Sitting in his chair, Sansa across from him, Jon leaned back, letting out a deep sigh. It was a few moments before either of them spoke, but the silence was nice, welcome even after most of Jon’s days were filled with nonstop talking. 

Eyes wavering over everything and nothing, Jon let them drift towards Sansa finally, watching as she idly fingered the fabric at the end of her sleeve. She looked relaxed, her face calm and complacent, for the time, the only thing requiring her attention at the moment, was the fabric in between her fingers. A small tug on the corner of his lip, Jon looked down at his desk, spotting a small scroll laying on top. Reaching to grab it, he unraveled it, eyes roaming the small parchment. 

“It seems that Ed and Tormund are managing quite nicely up at the wall,” He read aloud, causing Sansa to lift her eyes upward. “There haven’t been any signs of disturbances there or any further reported from the scouts being sent out.”

“That’s good. Right?” Sansa asked. When Jon stayed silent, she repeated herself. “Jon?”

Finally looking up from the paper in his hands, Jon met her gaze, “Well, yes...it is, for now.” Setting the scroll aside, Jon laced his fingers, resting them on his lap. His brow cinching as he basked his thoughts out loud to Sansa. “It’s some of the better news we can only hope for. It means more time to prepare, convince, recruit, and train people. But it’s only a matter of time until there is a sighting of the Night King’s army.”

Somberly listening, Sansa thought for a moment, knowing that what Jon was saying was true. “Do you think that we will have enough men in time?” Sansa openly wondered, crossing her own hands in front of her on her lap. “Do you think that we can win this fight?”

Eyes burrowing into hers, Jon sat still for a moment. It was the same thought that crowded his mind everyday since he had first laid eyes on the Night King. Since he had last seen the army of the dead, and convinced all of the North to help fight for the living. Truth be told, he didn’t know if they would have enough people to fight, and even if they did, whether or not they would win. It wasn’t just his people they were going to be fighting for. They were fighting for everyone, for generations to come, and that thought alone terrified him. 

Letting the weight of it all rest on his shoulders once more, Jon breathed evenly and answered Sansa with as much honesty as he could muster, “I hope that we do. We have to win this war.” 

Jon didn’t say the last part of his answer, Sansa already knew what he thought. If they didn’t win, they were going to make sure they died fighting for all they could. “Then, let’s take the quiet as something good.” Sansa simply stated, putting up a small smile for him. “For now.” 

Huffing out a breath at the echo of his own words, Jon finally let go of the scowl that had been trying to penetrate and take over his face. His mind at ease again, Jon softly returned Sansa’s smile. She always knew what to say to him when he felt the looming darkness of the subject cloud his mind. 

A sudden rap at the door interrupted the silence they were falling back into. Before either of them could welcome who had knocked, the door opened, Maester Wolkan at the threshold. Looking back and forth between the both of them, the man hesitated, his face pale and ashen.

“Maester, is everything okay?” Jon questioned, knowing it unlike the man to just barge into any room in such a manner. Quickly glancing at Sansa, Jon sees her smile falter, confusion flooding her features just as it was him.

Instead of answering, Wolkan walked straight to Jon, stopping just next to him as he pulled his hand out from his sleeve, and handed him a scroll. Wary now, Jon slowly reached over to take the parchment. Lightly tugging on it, Jon furrowed his brow, when he realized the man wasn't letting go. Looking up, Jon met Wolkan’s distraught eyes, an unknown fear crossing over them, before he cast them down again, finally letting go. Taking a step back, Maester Wolkan averted his gaze below towards the floor, and waited. 

Looking down, Jon’s eyes widened as they landed on the sigil imprinted on the dried wax tightly bonding the paper together. A cold dread begins to spread over him, now understanding the Maester’s concern. Tracing his thumb over it as a way to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, disappointment filled Jon when the imprint didn’t change. 

“Jon? What is it?” Sansa’s voice breaks through the haze in his mind. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

“A three headed dragon.” Is all he says, as Sansa mirrors his expression. He hears her whisper, “the dragon queen”, under her breath, surprise and fear clear in her voice. Breaking the seal, Jon unraveled the paper, swallowing the thickness in his throat before reading out loud for both of them to hear. 

_ “Queen Daenery Targaryen, First of Her Name, invites you to Dragonstone. My Queen commands the combined forces of Dorne and the Reach, an Ironborn fleet, legions of Unsullied, a Dothraki horde and three dragons. The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny. I appeal to you, one bastard to another, for all dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes. Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen.” _

“Tyrion, he’s alive?” Sansa asked, clearly shocked. “You’re sure it’s him?” 

“I am. The last bit about bastards...only he would know to say that. He’s alive alright.” Setting the paper down, Jon scoffed before adding, “And he’s aiding Daenerys Targaryen. I doubt his sister will be too pleased with that.”

“I never knew what became of him after Joffrey’s death..” Sansa wonders aloud. “He must have ran just like I did, except he somehow reached Daenerys across the Narrow Sea. I wonder how he gained her favor?”

“It doesn't matter now Sansa,” Remarked Jon, brow furrowed again. “His ‘Queen’ has summoned me and I can’t imagine it’s anything good she has in mind.” Turning to Maester Wolkan, Jon instructs the older man to send word to their banner men, calling for another meeting. Eyes trailing after the man’s retreating figure, Jon’s mind filled with the dread of how his people would react to hearing this new information. Along with what else he had received word of, only the Gods now knew the chaos that was going to ensue very soon.

  
  


**********

  
  


“Deny her request!” A voice shouted out, almost immediately, anger dripping from every word. 

“Who does she think she is?!” Came another, followed by “She’ll murder us all, Your Grace!”, and “We have too many enemies as it is, we can’t afford another war before this one has even begun!” 

Voice after voice, the cries of the people rang out through the hall, making any point of conversation almost impossible, all trying to convey their thoughts and opinions. It was hard to know who was saying what. Jon could only make out a few sentences here and there, but he heard enough to know that no one was happy. And everyone was afraid. 

“Even if it is true,” One voice rang out over the other overlapping ones, stopping them mid sentences. “Who is to say she wouldn’t just come here anyway, to take our lands as she would the rest of Westeros?” 

All heads turned towards the person who had asked the obvious question that was being left unsaid amongst others. It was a relevant question. An even more dangerous one. 

“She has no claim over the North, nor the rest of the kingdoms for that matter!” Yelled Lord Glover, his rough timbre carrying over most of the now quiet room. 

“If the rumors are true, if they haven’t run wild as they were once told,” Lord Hornwood went on, “how do we know denying this message, this veiled  _ demand _ , won’t set the Targaryen off into a mad rampage? Turn her full attention on the North.”

“So you are saying the King should go to Dragonstone?” Yon Royce demanded, getting up from his seat. “It’s all just a ruse! If he doesn’t bend the knee,  _ she  _ would likely have him killed the minute he steps on land, as a way to frighten us and take the north under her rule!” 

“I am not saying that at all.” Lord Hornwood answered, hefting himself up to match his height. “What I am saying, my Lords, is that we shouldn’t come to a decision so quickly.” Looking around the room, his eyes spoke beyond what his words could. “We needn’t be reminded of the consequences we have all faced before, from thinking without ration. We need to take  _ all _ matters into consideration.”

“What other matters would that be?” Lord Manderly spoke up, catching all eyes from across the room. “Besides the  _ obvious _ .”

_ The obvious _ , Sansa thought to herself as everyone went back and forth,  _ is what no one is willing to say is true. There is another Targaryen with a thirst to conquer. Again. That there is already too much for us to handle with not only one, but now two tyrants begging for our submission.  _

“Well, one obvious matter was that she has three dragons.” A man from further back, closest to the doors, called out. Jon couldn’t see exactly who. “One alone could burn hundreds of these white walkers in...just seconds?” 

“That’s if it even is true. No one has seen a dragon for almost two hundred years.” Lord Manderly bit back, his face set into a deep scowl, irritation vibrating off of him. Few mumbles of agreement echoed his words.

“Even so, she has a powerful army. Possibly large and strong enough if she believes it to be able to go up against the Lannister army. And win.” Lord Cerwyn intervened, speaking cautiously, before adding, “A large army could help us.”

Another uproar assaulted the air as everyone took sides, those agreeing that it is a horrible idea, while some remarked that their numbers were indeed limited. 

Head roaming side to side, listening to everyone argue and scream, Sansa pointed all her attention onto Lord Cerwyn’s comment. Even if the rumors of dragons were false, which they might as well be, that of a large army was not. Despite how much she hated to acknowledge his presence, she knew Littlefinger and his ability to gain information when he thought it valuable. 

“You are our King,” Lady Mormont rose from her seat, eyeing Jon and the rest of the group. “We need you in the North, not travelling South. We can not afford to lose you too.” 

“Another reminder, Your Grace, that we would hardly stand a chance against the Mad King’s daughter, should she decide to turn her forces to us.” Yon Royce offered, turning now towards Jon, who had been intently listening to what his people had to say. “Plenty of us remember the ruling of the last dragon. The only good Targaryen is a dead one.” 

“My lords, I’ve heard quite enough.” Breathing in deeply, Jon turned slowly in a circle, waiting until everything settled before making sure all heard him. “Everything that has been said here, holds their own truths. Aye, Daenerys Targaryen has a vast army, one I’m sure she would not think twice of using against us, if she really wanted to.”

Waiting a beat, Jon continued, “The same goes for her dragons, if they are real. She has been in Westeros long enough to know who poses against her, yet she hasn’t used any of her forces against us...which means that we are likely not at the top of her list. Not Yet.”

“Jon, wait,” Sansa interrupted, rising from her seat. “What about the dragonglass?” Moving slowly to the end of the table, she continued speaking. “You mentioned that Samwell Tarly said Dragonstone sits on a deposit of it. That we could possibly use it for weapons.”

“Lady Sansa is correct, Your Grace,” Lord Umber chimed, his voice cracking slightly. Such a young age to be discussing life or death already. “She likely doesn’t even know it’s there. She has no use for it. Not like we do.”

“She will want something in return.” Jon answered, not needing to explain to them what it is. 

“Not if she knows what it is we are up against. She doesn’t know about the White Walkers.” Sansa provided. Grunts of approval sounded in the hall, along with a few complaints, but it was enough. “What they are, what they want, and how to defeat them. Perhaps if it were enough, if she believed us, just as others have, we could even convince her to help us.”

“She believes herself to be the true heir to the throne, correct?” Not waiting for anyone to answer, Sansa continued, trying to convince not only them, but maybe even herself. “Then as a  _ true Queen _ , she would want to protect her people, would she not? She won’t have a kingdom to rule over if we don’t win this war. There won’t be anyone left.” 

“The Lady Sansa makes a compelling argument, Your Grace.” Lord Hornwood roughly admitted, eyes cast sideways at those who mumbled insults and retorted towards the man. 

“She’ll likely not speak to an emissary, she will see it as an insult to her supposed title, so who exactly would you propose goes on this death wish of a mission?” Jon demanded, hands clenching slowly by his sides, a bubble of hot iron forming in his stomach. 

“I could go,” Sansa replies, quickly swallowing the bit of fear that had risen inside her throat. “As Lady of Winterfell.” If she had thought the chaos of Jon leaving was bad enough, saying those few sentences had completely topped off the crowd. Amidst it all, Sansa kept her eyes on Jon, watching as the blood drained from his face, shock and horror leaving him quiet. Quiet and angry. 

“And put yourself in danger just like that?” Jon asked her, his voice still great enough, carrying over and dimming the rest of the noise. “Absolutely not. It’s out of the question.” 

“You said so yourself,” Waving her arm to him and back to her, as she made her point. Schooling her features, Sansa let the wolf in her rise to meet Jon’s. “Daenerys would not entertain an emissary, she sees herself a Queen. You cannot leave the North. I am one of your closest advisers, so let me go.” 

Curling his fists into his sides, Jon takes a slow step forward, enunciating every word. “No, Sansa. You, nor anyone else for that matter, will be going South.”

“But, Jon—“

“I said no.” His glare cutting almost straight through her, Sansa felt her face heat up. Jon wasn’t even listening to her anymore. 

“If you would just listen—“ 

“Enough!” Jon yelled, cutting her and everyone in the room off. Turning abruptly to look around, his eyes settled on everyone at once. “No one goes South. No one is leaving the North.” Turning back to the front of the room, Jon meets Sansa face on. “My word is final.”

Brushing past the standing bodies, Jon stalked quickly out the hall, leaving nothing but silence in his absence. Jutting her chin out a bit, Sansa dismissed the rest of those gathered, and grabbed her cloak. She couldn’t stand being there any longer, after the humiliating scene that just took place. 

Ignoring the looks she received, Sansa exited the hall, her trusted knight right behind her. 

  
  


**********

Clenching the sides of her cloak tighter around her, Sansa walked through Wintertown, Brienne shadowing her as she dutifully swore, head still reeling from their big meeting. The bite of Jon’s words still rang through her ears, making her feel even more numb than the icy wind could. Even though Sansa knew why he had been so adamant about her idea, why he was being unreasonable to the idea, she couldn’t get past the notion that she was not in the wrong. 

There were plenty of others who had agreed with her, that were capable of seeing a better outcome if they went this route. Of course, there were also many people who thought it was a terrible idea as well, and a part of her had wanted to say, ‘ _ I completely agree, we don’t know her...a Targaryen can not be trusted...we have been burned before.’  _ A shiver went down her back as the memory of being told the story of what happened to her grandfather and uncle during Aerys Targaryen’s rule clawed at the back of her mind. She wasn’t a fool. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought of the many wrong outcomes that would come about this idea. 

But nothing could cover up the truth, that the dead were coming, and they were going to need all of the help they could get. Huffing out her breath, a white cloud swam through the frigid air, slowly drifting away until Sansa couldn’t see it anymore. 

As she passed most of the folks, Sansa was greeted with “M’Lady,” or small nods, those which she returned with, or tried to mostly, with a curt smile. Even when she was in a foul mood, Sansa often tried to at least seem courteous, the mannerisms of a proper lady embedded in her long ago, always coming to surface.  _ Old habits,  _ she repeated in her head. 

Stopping at one of the merchant carts that sold fabric and furs for cloaks and other winter essentials, Sansa greeted the older man, offering little small talk when he mentioned that he had just received some new bundles of colors, hoping to have enough left over for his wife to sew together quilts. 

Smiling, Sansa observed a gray bundle of fabric, the material soft to touch. Picking it up, she noticed how it slightly got lighter when in the sun, going back to it’s pretty dark shade when shadowed again. It reminded her of the way Jon’s eyes did the same thing, always changing. Looking over her shoulder, Sansa held up the fabric for Brienne to see, who calmly nodded her head, though she seemed a bit caught off guard by being asked of something so small. 

Exchanging the small coin for the cloth, Sansa promised to come back to take a look at the new quilts, before waving goodbye to the merchant. Turning, her and Brienne strode through the pathway, weaving through the small bustle of people, until they came to a small house, a sign hanging beside it’s door reading:  _ Esthis’ Home for Children _ .

The small area beside it had small children in it, playing and filling the air with their shouts of joy and laughter. They were making use of the building mounds of snow, by making figures or just simply throwing small chunks around. The sight of it brought a slight burn to the back of Sansa’s throat, the spiking feeling she always got when reminded of the things her and her siblings would occasionally do at that age. 

As they approached, a woman opened the door to the small house, calling out for the children to go inside for their lessons. With groans, most of the children hurried in, only few taking their time, tossing a small chunk of snow between them. 

Looking up the woman noticed Sansa and Brienne walking up the stones leading to the house. When they got close enough, the woman quickly did her best curtsy, murmuring, “M’Lady.”

Bowing her head in turn, Sansa continued to watch the rest of the children enter the house until the last one disappeared through the door. “Esthis. I see the children are faring well.”

“Yes, M’Lady, quite well. Many ask how they can help with the coming winter, but we make sure they keep to their studies.” Stepping aside, Esthis welcomed Sansa and Brienne inside, though Brienne kindly declined, promptly stating she would stand guard outside. 

“They’re just children, there’s not much they can do now.” Stepping into the small entry, Sansa rubs her hands together, grateful for a moment out of the cold. “It’ll be many years before these children and babes grow into young adults. Hopefully by then we will be living in a peaceful and prosperous time.” Sansa says as she walks by the bassinets with the tiniest of babes, bundled tightly and fast asleep. 

“Aye m’lady, we hope your words come to fruition.” Sansa looks at Esthis and smiles.

“I’ll be sure to tell the King to send more than enough grains to make sure all these bellies are full and happy.” Reaching out, Sansa gently pats Esthis’ arm. “Hard times are coming, but the King and I will do anything we can for the children of Winterfell.” Esthis offers a watery smile at the kind notion. 

“Thank you so much you- m’lady.” Sansa catches on to the mistake but doesn’t let on. She takes one last look at the children and Esthis, before taking her exit and joining her guards outside.

After a few more stops, discussions and exchanges, both Sansa and Brienne make their way back to Winterfell before the sun sets. Feeling a bit more relaxed from earlier, Sansa heads towards the sewing room to deposit the items she had gotten earlier, leaving the fabric for the next few days. While she puts her items away, she relieves Brienne, letting her knight know that she will be fine from there on out. Nodding in her direction one last time, Brienne pauses for a brief moment as if she wanted to say something. A beat passes before the woman purses her lips tight, nodding again and walks away, likely going to her chambers or to the great hall to get dinner. 

Watching her go, Sansa considers going to get dinner as well. Instead, she goes in the opposite direction, and makes her way through the halls, in search of Jon. Passing a few maidens, whom she promptly questions the King’s whereabouts, they tell her they had not seen him since earlier in the day, around midday’s meal. Considerably the same time their meeting had abruptly ended. 

Thanking them, Sansa heads to Jon’s office, in hopes of finding him sulking over paperwork and maps, how she usually did when he was in a mood. Knocking before entering, she finds the room empty, almost untouched apart from the oil lamp that Jon kept on his desk, in need of filling from constant use. When she checks his own chambers, Sansa finds it in the same state as the office, almost untouched and empty. 

Sighing to herself, Sansa shuts the doors, and makes her way back to her own chambers. Though she hated not knowing where Jon could have gone off to, she knows he will come around eventually. Remembering how cold he had been after he left the meeting, maybe what he needed was time to settle himself. Just as she had when she had gone into town. 

Opening the door to her solar, Sansa stands in the doorway for a few seconds, surprised to find Jon already there, facing the lit fire, Ghost laying, asleep at his feet. As she closed the door behind her, the soft thud echoes through the small room, acknowledging that someone had entered. Standing there patiently, Sansa waits for Jon to turn around and notice her presence, but he doesn’t.

Hunched over himself, elbows resting on his knees, his hands covering his mouth, Jon continued to stare into the flames, as if they were telling him the secrets of the world. The only movement she received was Ghost slowly raising his head towards her, before lowering it down, drifting off back to sleep. 

The direwolf had begun to make it a habit of sleeping in her solar when both her and Jon were settling in for the night. Sansa of course never minded, the presence of the wolf making her feel whole and complete, just like her own Lady had once done. She only wished his presence could rid the room of the tension that filled the room as well. 

Neither of them say a word as the crackling fire fills the silence trapped between them. Already expecting this, Sansa moved closer until she was standing but a few feet away. Inhaling deeply, she squared shoulders and broke the barrier. “Jon.”    
  


“How could  _ you  _ propose such a...a..ridiculous idea?” Jon muttered slowly under his breath, turning his head to his side so she saw his profile. 

“Do you have any idea of how dangerous it could be?” He added through clenched teeth, the small vein in his forehead popping out. “Did it once occur to you that she might decide to even hold you hostage?” 

“I am only trying to help. Offer advice that you clearly have no issue ignoring.” 

“And rightfully so. You once told me that I have to be smarter with the decisions I make.” Jon gritted out. “That if I didn’t, I would only end up li-...like father...or Robb.” Getting to his feet, Jon took Sansa’s hand in one of his. His eyes softened at her familiar touch, soothing his next words. “Why is it that when I make choices based on what I believe you would think are right, it never ends up that way?”

Tightly squeezing his hand, Sansa can’t help the icy feeling she gets in her chest when she becomes upset. “If you want to know what I think is the correct thing to do, then you need to ask, and actually listen.” Squeezing even harder, Sansa doesn’t fail to miss the slight narrowing of his eyes. “I think that what you’re proposing to do, to ignore the raven and stay in here in the North, might be one of the most foolish decisions we have discussed.” 

Face immediately falling, Jon abruptly yanked his hand away and turned his back to Sansa, casting his eyes back onto the fire. Taking even breaths, he closed his eyes, trying to hold back most of what he wanted to say. The fact that Sansa even swayed another way on this decision, one he didn’t make without thinking, one he thought was absolutely the best option for the North right now, made Jon feel things he couldn’t even describe.

In other circumstances, he would have continued with the meeting, explored the idea of more, but he didn’t. Now that they were alone though, Jon couldn’t stall the much needed talk. “So you’re saying,” Jon lowly asked, every word coming out forced, “that my plan to keep everyone in the North, myself included, and ignore another usurper’s claim to the throne, is the worst option there is?”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea Jon, “ Folding her arms around herself, Sansa scoffed. “I am saying that it shouldn’t be considered our  _ only  _ option. As our King, I don't think it’s a good idea for you to leave us to treat with her. You’re right about one thing, you belong here in the North, which is why I suggested sending an Emissary.”

“If not an emissary, then have me go to speak on your behalf. I’m the Lady of Winterfell, and the King’s sister, I’m as good as speaking to yourself.” Gazing down, she softly added, “Tyrion could maybe even help my cause.”

“Sansa, I won’t be going anywhere if you don’t want me to, but neither will you.” Finally opening his eyes and turning to her, Jon’s voice softened, to the one Sansa only heard when they were alone. “We don’t know this woman. I don’t care that the man that was once your husband is there. He’s her hand, and these ambitions she has are only being fed more and more by him.”

“But Jon, this dragonglass could be very useful for the upcoming war, you’ve said it yourself.”

“I did, and it could be, if it’s really there.” Reaching up, Jon hesitated before cupping her face, his hands warm from being near the fire. “But if the cost of getting it means to put either of us, you especially, in danger, then we can do without it.” Thumb softly caressing her cheek, his eyes shift colors as the light dances in them, catching a vibrant shine. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if anything ever happened to you...if I ever lost you. I would never forgive myself.” 

Placing her hand over his, Sansa tilts her head, knowing how much it means for Jon to admit this. The thought had crossed her own mind many times over. “We could very well lose each other anyway if we can’t win. If we don’t try more than what we already are.” 

“Sansa, battles have been-”

“-won against greater odds.” Sansa finishes off. Jon sighs, leaning his head against hers. 

“In the days to come we can discuss plans and execute them.” Pulling back, Jon’s hands slip from Sansa’s face to her shoulders. It had been a long day, and the fight in both of them was already trickling away, leaving them bone tired. Tugging her towards him, Jon fully wrapped his arms around Sansa as she brought hers up. “I have faith that we will figure something out.”

“Aye, we will.” Sansa whispers as she stares into the fire. Perhaps it could tell her the same secrets it had told Jon. 

  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful people! I hope that you and your families are safe during these terrible times. It's been months of this and I still cannot believe we are living through a worldwide pandemic. I hope, as well as all of you do, that things go back to being normal sooner rather than later. Please keep social distancing, cover your face and wash your hands!
> 
> We promised you guys more frequent chapters and we didn't deliver, apologies! We hope to eradicate that for you guys, so here is this new chapter, if you enjoyed let us know in the comments! They make us happy especially during these times :)
> 
> -Valy

Snow crunching under her boots, Sansa moved through the mill of people as fluidly as she could manage. Though it was quite difficult with a small crowd following her. Sansa rarely made promises, but this was one she diligently planned on keeping. Which explained the reason for a carriage of grain and cloths, along with two soldiers and a maiden she had requested to help her.

The last few days had passed by achingly slow. Every morning, after they had broken their fast, Jon would go over maps and plans with Yon Royce, who was appointed in charge of training, and Ser Davos, his most trusted advisor. The meetings were very time consuming, so much that none of the men would leave the battle room until almost midday, for meals, and to attend to any matters that require immediate attention. Then it’s right back to the war room, to go over the same strategies again until after dark. Or at least that’s what Jon tells her what happens, when he and Sansa are settling in for the night, lying in bed, as they drift off to sleep. 

While in the beginning, Sansa had wanted to be a part of said meetings, she is now grateful she finds herself busy with other tasks such as overlooking stock and helping the maidens with sewing the fabrics they have into useful items. In fact, the fabrics she had acquired the other day were now mostly sewn into a beautiful cloak, the clasps on it two direwolves, and embroidery on the cuffs were leaves, just like the ones from the weirwood tree in the Godswood. It wasn’t finished completely but it was turning out better than Sansa had originally imagined it would. She hadn’t made a cloak since the one she made for Jon back at Castle Black. 

Coming up on the small house, Sansa’s lips curl upwards. Waving her hand outwards, she gestures for her small group to pause in their movements, as she swiftly saunters up to the door, knocking twice. Listening Sansa hears Esthis tell the children to quiet down as they continue their work, footsteps coming closer. Sansa kindly smiles as the door opens. 

“M’Lady, what a surprise, “ Esthis comments, her own smile brightening the space. “We weren’t expecting another visit so soon.” 

“You know how much I enjoy spending time with the children when I can, Esthis,” Stepping to the side, Sansa waves towards the gathering behind her, tilting her head sheepishly. “Though this wasn’t the reason behind my visit today. A promise is a promise, my word is my bond. Here is fresh grain, fabric, and more quilts.”

Awestruck, Esthis raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes shining. “Oh, Lady Sansa, this is too much to ask for.” 

“Nonsense, it is essential.” Both women move to the side while the two men begin moving in the grain, towards the back in the kitchen, and the maiden who came along moves the fabric and quilts to a small linen closet. “Nothing is too much for these little children. They deserve it.” 

Hands clasped in front of her, Sansa smiles fondly at the children, politely waving when a small girl looks up at the noise. As the young girl waves back, a bright smile warms her little face, one that practically melts Sansa’s heart. The warm feeling tugs at the part of her heart, the one that always prompts her to visit when she is able to. 

“You’re truly too kind, m’lady.” Esthis drawls, nodding her head towards the young ones. “The children enjoy visitors and your presence is one they often ask for.” 

“I will have to make more time to come then.” 

Finishing up, the two men and maiden await as Sansa and Esthis continue speaking for a few turns, before Sansa bids her farewell. Turning, they all make their way back to Winterfell, steps light from the kindness they just did, not to mention the goodbyes all the children had bid them. 

Entering the gates, Sansa parts with her small party, the men going off in the direction of the weapons room, the maiden back to the main part of the castle to see if any help was needed. Heading towards the entrance of the Great Hall, Sansa is met by Brienne, looking a bit weary from training most of the morning. 

“Brienne,” Sansa greets her knight, who murmurs a contrite reply, observing the group of people who had just left her company. Looking back towards Sansa, a question formed her eyes, even if she didn’t voice it. Nodding for the woman to walk alongside her, Sansa ignores the curiosity bestowing Brienne, instead asking, “How is the training coming along?”

Inhaling before she spoke, Sansa feels rather than sees Brienne bristle at the obvious change of subject. “It is faring quite well, my Lady. The men and boys are catching on quite fast, some even trying to teach those who are struggling.” 

“That is very pleasing to hear.” Both women keep walking, listening to the sounds of those around them. “Do you believe they will be ready in time?” Glancing sideways, Sansa adds, “Be completely honest with me.” 

Brows furrowing, Brienne thinks a moment before replying, “It is obvious most of them were farmers and merchants before this, though most do have the potential.” Sighing deeply, she doubtfully comments, “It took me years to become the sword wielder I am today. Practice will make them better, for sure. Lots of practice.” 

“No one becomes a warrior overnight.” Sansa chuckles as they reach the doors. 

“Tell that to the King.” Brienne mumbles, though it almost looks as if a smile is trying to grace her face. 

“I remember on multiple occasions where our King himself did not even know how to properly hold a sword,” Sansa remarks, stifling a laugh at the memory of when Robb and Jon used to practice, and Jon had been knocked over after getting carried away with how well he had been doing. “Perhaps he needs reminding of said times.” 

“I shall let you do the reminding then my lady, should the need arise.” 

Smiling to herself, Sansa relieved Brienne, seeing that her squire, Podrick, needed her attention more than she did at the moment. Watching them walk away, bickering already, Sansa entered the Great Hall. It was midday and she found herself in need of a meal. 

**********

After sending the handmaids to settle in for the rest of the evening, Sansa makes her way to Jon’s chambers. She figured that tonight they could sleep in his, seeing as they spent most of their nights in hers. Which is exactly where Jon finds her when he walks in, sewing by the fire. Looking up from her newest project, she watches as he sheds his cloak near the door. Just by looking at the way he moves, Sansa can tell that Jon is tired from meetings. Smiling softly, she beckons him over to her when he looks up to meet her eyes. 

Settling into the space in front of her chair, Jon kneels and hugs Sansa, his head resting on her lap, buried in the fabric of her skirts. Turning his head, Jon gazes into the fire, thinking of everything and nothing all at once, humming softly when Sansa begins to run her fingers through his locks, the sensation calming. 

“How did they go today?” Sansa tentatively asks. “Did you make any progress?”

“No,” Jon snorts, lifting his head. “I swear Sansa, it’s as if I’m speaking to the walls, only they know how to yell back.” Resting his head back on her lap, Jon tightens his hold on Sansa’s waist.

“It’s that bad?” 

“Circles are the only thing we go in, and I’m getting tired of repeating my opinions only to have them thrown back at me.” Huffing out a deep sigh, Jon closes his eyes. “If we could agree on anything, then we could all go back to our normal routines.” Quietly, he adds, “I miss looking forward to spending time with you. I miss you..”

Heart constricting at the sweet sentiment, Sansa leans down, kissing the top of Jon’s head, quietly murmuring, “I miss you too.”

After their disagreement, both Jon and Sansa had tried to steer clear of the topic of what to do about the scroll. Most topics regarding anything close to that really. It wasn’t easy. Just asking about the meetings Jon had been having, Sansa could clearly tell he didn’t like discussing them much. Trying to figure out a different solution that both benefited the North and kept everyone safe was difficult enough. Knowing that Sansa still believed in her suggestion so strongly was something Jon didn’t want to think of. So they kept the talk to a minimum, only of whether there was any progress or not. Nothing further. 

It felt odd, having this small barrier between them. They never hid anything from each other, or thought they couldn’t speak to one another about anything. It felt like a small wound or an empty, unsettling feeling to think that the one thing you desperately wanted to speak about to the person you trusted most, was the very thing that left both of you more conflicted than before. 

Sansa hated it, the feeling. She knew Jon did as well, but it was something they would just have to move past. No point dwelling on anything you couldn’t change. 

Placing her hands on his face, Sansa urges Jon to lift his head. When he does, she holds his attention for a moment, before leaning in, gently kissing him. It’s a sweet kiss, not one filled with vigor or lustful passion as most their kisses are. No, it’s one that says love and understanding. Slowly pulling away, Sansa’s lips curve into a smile, as Jon reaches up, getting to his feet, and gently cups her face as she did him, bringing their lips back together.

The soft way her lips feel, the gentle caress of her fingers on his cheeks, Jon presses multiple kisses to Sansa’s lips, each one a bit longer than the last. Lingering on the last, Jon finally pulls away, gazing at the woman he loves. Eyes roaming over her face, he finds nothing but love there, warming his heart. 

“I love you, Sansa,” He murmurs, tracing the curve of her cheek with his finger.

Cupping Jon’s hand in hers, Sansa leans into the touch. “I love you, Jon.” Sensing that he was more at ease, she motions for him to sit. “Sit with me.”

Nodding his head, Jon does as he is told, taking a seat next to Sansa on the couch. Throwing his arm on the back of the couch, Jon wraps it around Sansa. Huddling close together, they bask in the company. It has been a while since they had a chance to sit in front of the fire like this. Glancing down, Jon notices the fabric on Sansa’s lap. Running his hand over it, it feels soft to the touch, and the color is nice. He likes it. 

“A new dress?” He casually asks, running the fabric between his fingers. “A bit thin for the winter?”

“Actually, it’s supposed to be a cloak. See the hood?” Picking the garment up, Sansa shows Jon the entirety of it. “I chose the color, because it reminded me of your eyes. The way they change in the light, see how the cloth does as well?”

Humming, Jon appreciates the color, just like Sansa did. “I like it, especially the stitching you added here on the sleeves,” Caressing the stitch, Jon smiles at the leaves entwining around the cuff. “You won’t be cold wearing it?”

“Well no,” Gently taking the fabric from his hands, Sansa folds the cloak neatly, standing to place it inside the basket by the corner she had brought with her, filled with her sewing materials. “It isn’t finished, not entirely.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Jon doesn’t say anything more. It looked finished to him, though who was he to comment on the topic of sewing. Leaning back, Jon sighs as he tries to relax. Dozing a bit as he listens to Sansa bustle about the solar, he doesn’t realize that she is back, until she is offering him a cup of wine. 

Taking it, Jon sips the dark liquid, letting the sweet flavor run across his tongue, as Sansa takes her place next to him again. They are sitting close enough that their legs almost overlap one another. Reaching over, Sansa places her hand over the one Jon has on his thigh, his fingers grasping onto hers almost instantly. They stay like that for a bit, drinking their wine and holding hands. 

Sneaking glances at Jon every so often, Sansa thinks of how she can bring this up without making it sound forced. She knows that Jon would be supportive of her however she decided to do this, but despite how many times she had gone over this exact moment in her head, she can’t bring herself to get any words out. 

Too lost in thought, she drew circles on Jon’s hand with her thumb, a tell sign Sansa only did when she was mulling over something. It was rare that Sansa ever felt the need to consider what she told Jon or asked him. It was one thing they tried to agree on, always be honest with each other no matter what. Whatever was on her mind, it must be important enough that she was so distracted.

Grabbing the wine from her hand, Jon set both cups down, before turning back to Sansa, her full attention on him now. 

“What’s on your mind, Sansa?” Cracking a knowing smile, Jon joined their hands once more, giving Sansa’s a small squeeze. “I know you, and I know when something is bothering you. What is it? You can tell me.”

Huffing out a sigh, Sansa ducked her head bashfully. It still gave her stomach flutters whenever Jon bluntly questioned her about these things. Almost as if he could read her mind. 

“Besides,” He added, “I’ve noticed you open your mouth a few times and heard you take enough breaths to know that you want to at least say something.” 

Giving him a glare that held no heat, Sansa waited another moment before answering. “Well, Jon, I have been thinking for a while now.” Biting her lip, she averted her gaze, then brought it back up, willing herself to focus on Jon’s endearing eyes. “And I think I am ready.”

Brows furrowing, Jon tilts his head in confusion. “Ready for what exactly?” 

Pulling her hands free from his, Sansa moves to adjust herself, leaning towards Jon enough to slightly brush her lips on his. Grabbing hold of his shoulders, she pulls him to her, Jon automatically drawn to her, his own hands moving to wrap around Sansa. As their kiss deepens, Sansa runs her tongue over Jon’s bottom lip, waiting for him to open up to her. As he does, she can taste the sweet flavor of wine she had poured for him, enjoying the dancing flavor on her own tongue.

Breaking apart, Jon’s lips fall down to the crook of Sansa’s neck, nipping here and there as he moves upward toward her jaw line. He loved kissing her smooth, silky skin, the way it felt velvety against his lips. He loved the little rasps Sansa would make as he found a ticklish spot, nipping at it to hear her make those sounds of delight. 

Gently wrapping her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck, Sansa whispers into Jon’s ear, “I’m ready, Jon. For everything.” 

Pausing at the way she said it, Jon slowly pulls back, realizing what she means. He looks into her eyes, the way they're dilated and bright, Jon feels the need to ask. He has to know for sure. “Can you be more specific?” Straightening up, he leans against the back of the small couch again. “I’m almost positive I know what you’re asking for Sansa, but I need you to tell me what it is you want.” 

Biting her lip again, Sansa offers Jon a kind smile. “It’s been weeks Jon, you know, since we had dinner, and..well..confessed our love for each other.” Running her hand across his arm, Sansa feels the heat rise to her cheeks. “I’ve really enjoyed how things have been, that you’re so patient with me and that we have been taking things at a good pace.”

“I really love how gentle and tender you are with me, and how amazing it has been learning all these things that I always dreamed of experiencing.” Stopping the glide of her hand, Sansa tries to turn her face into a slightly more serious one. “But I...Jon I think that I want more.” Her voice lowers a bit, sounding husky, her eyes trailing down, “I need more.”

Jon doesn’t say anything, just sits there staring at Sansa while he absorbs everything she just said. “Sansa,” he starts, silently cursing himself for being such a gentleman, he takes a deep breath. “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want? You don’t ever have to feel like you need to.”

Swallowing thickly, Jon can already feel the heat pooling down below at the thought of them doing more than what they have been. He enjoyed everything they did actually, from the soft stolen kisses when they would sneak off, to the hungrier, deeper ones when they hadn’t seen each other the entire day. Jon loved every moment with Sansa. 

But listening to her say that she was ready for more, whatever more she felt she wanted, was making his thoughts cloud with desire. 

“But if you think you’re ready, then I am more than happy to do more with you.” Caressing his free hand across her cheek, Jon thinks of how he is willing to give Sansa everything it was she wanted. He doesn’t believe he would be able to tell her no, nor would he want to. “Anything you want to do, Sansa.” 

Tentatively inching her way closer, Sansa smiles as she says, “I want to do it all Jon.” 

With one last look into her eyes, Jon nodded his head as he went to capture Sanaa’s lips with his. It’s different this time. The feeling of it. It isn’t as it was before when they kiss. No, there’s a current in the air, between them, a sort of tension. Anticipation. It’s exhilarating so to speak. 

Hands entwined around his neck and shoulders, Sansa lets out a small moan when Jon’s hand brushes against her chest. All the nerves and excitement she was feeling left her head feeling light, as if she had drank an entire pitcher of wine. She remembers the stories and whispered conversations she overheard or was a part of, of how a man and woman would couple. 

Of the things some of the women would do to make a man be driven mad with desire, just by touch or the right movement and position. How a man would take his lady wife or a mistress, letting his lust filled urges take over. The hushed giggles that would erupt from the women gathered at midday tea times would leave most with knowing smiles and pink cheeks. 

The acts spoken about were those that Sansa wondered about often. Being here, in Jon’s arms, unable to keep their hands off the other midst open mouthed kissing, Sansa didn’t want to wonder about them no more. She wanted to know what those acts felt like. She had never felt the need to feel these things so much before. 

Filled with a boldness, Sansa shifted, breaking apart their kiss, to straddle Jon’s thighs. Shocked at the new position, Jon’s hands fall to Sansa’s hips, his fingers bunching up the fabric. The slow simmer that had been rising, immediately gathered, hurtling straight towards his cock. 

Holding her breath, Sansa stares down at Jon. Exhaling softly, she asks, “Is this okay?” 

Unable to take his eyes away from her, Jon nods his head. “It’s more than okay.” 

Casting her eyes down, Sansa tries and fails to hide the way she bites her lip, when Jon gently cups her chin with one hand, the other still on her hip to steady her. Moving his thumb down, he pulls her lip from between her teeth, leaning in to capture it between his own. Tugging gently, Jon bites it, quickly swiping it, before Sansa grips the side of his face, clashing their mouths together. 

Moving in motion with one another, teeth gnashing together, Jon mumbles to Sansa, asking if she trusts him. Quickly replying yes, Jon grips onto Sansa’s waist again, and slowly rolls his hips up, his cock meeting her center through the fabric that separates them. 

Gasping suddenly, Sansa clenches her eyes shut, the tingling feeling running through her entire body at once. 

“Oh, Gods Jon…” She groans out. Peeling her eyes open, she finds his lust blown eyes staring up at her, a smirk gracing his lips. Wanting to try the same thing for herself, Sansa rocks back and forth, filling with delight when Jon bites his lip, stifling a moan, his eyes rolling back. 

Roaming his hands, firmly gripping here and there, Sansa whispers out her approval, encouraging Jon to roll his hips once more with the motions. Taking another risk, Sansa begins to unlace Jon’s jerkin, fingers moving too fast. She fumbles, having to stop when a knot forms in one of the strings. 

“I’m sorry.” Letting out a small chuckle, Sansa leans her head into Jon’s shoulder, unable to stop from laughing at herself. “I don’t know what happened.” 

Joining in the quiet laughter, Jon rubs his hand down Sansa’s back, telling her it was fine, before he tries to unlace the rest of it himself, removing the leather fast once the knot is gone. 

Pulling back, Sansa runs her hands down his thin linen shirt, the only barrier still covering his chest. The muscle beneath is hard and taut, making the heat already between her legs ache.

Jon holds Sanaa’s face in his hands, smoothing down her hair, before kissing her sensually and slowly, his tongue tracing her lips lightly before slipping into her mouth. Moving down, he begins to unlace her dress, undoing more buttons from the front. 

When Sansa leans back, the fire roaring behind them casts such a glow that it’s breathtaking, making Jon just want to admire the way she is radiating. Her eyes are blown wide, her cheeks flushed with a pretty crimson, that trails beneath the rest of the material of her dress. Looking around, Jon knows this isn’t the place he wants their first time to be. 

“Sansa,” Urging her up, Sansa gets off Jon’s lap, him following as they stand. Looking behind her at the open door past to where his chambers are, Jon brings his eyes back to Sansa, who turns and realizes what he is implying. Pulling him back into their earlier embrace, Sansa walks backwards, as Jon rests his hands on her hips, guiding her. Their mouths slot back together as they slowly make their way into the room. 

Stopping in the middle of his chambers, in front of his bed, Jon breaks them apart again, a smile across his face as well as Sansa’s. “Are you sure you want to keep going?” He asks, hesitating at the speed they were moving. He didn’t want to push her to do more. “If you want to stop here, we can?” 

“I want to keep going.” Sansa tells him. Hands moving behind her to the unfinished laces, turning as she asks, “Can you help me get the rest of these undone?”

Chuckling, Jon does as he is told, undoing the strings, biting his lip as he carefully unwinds them. When her bodice is finally loose enough, Sansa removes it without another word, along with the rest of her accessories. Dress billowing now, she turns back to face Jon. His face has lost all humor, as he watches Sansa pull off the sleeves off her frame, the heavy material falling to pool at her feet. Swallowing thickly, Jon admires the smooth milky shine of Sansa’s skin as the fire casts its light on her. His face warms as he notices how the light from the fire makes her shift appear very thin, not hiding anything to the imagination anymore. 

Running his hands up her arms, the silky feel of it warm to the touch, Jon can’t take his eyes off of them as they explore the nude expanse of them. He gently lifts the strap of her shift, letting it fall to the side as his fingers glide across Sansa’s shoulder. Leaning down, Jon plants a few kisses to the new skin. Skimming slightly again, Jon starts when Sansa’s hands suddenly grip onto his. 

“Jon, please. You don’t have to be so delicate as if I’m made of glass.” Sliding the other strap of her shift off her shoulder, Sansa clings onto the material as it slowly inches it’s way down her body, barely covering her chest now. Reaching out with one hand, she replaces her hand holding her shift with Jon’s. “I’m not fragile,” Sansa whispers, shuffling closer, her body mere inches from his. “Don’t treat me like I am.” 

Entranced, Jon simply nods as he lets go, watching the rest of her shift cascade down her body, making a small trail leading back to the dress she shed before. Raising his eyebrows, Jon blankly stares as he realizes Sansa isn’t wearing any under garments. Eyes trailing down, Jon takes a moment to take in the fullness of Sansa’s breast, to the smooth plane of her stomach. The roundness of her hips down to the center between her thighs. 

Audibly gulping, Jon tries not to get too caught in how soft the curls at her apex look. Or how for some reason all he wants to do in that moment is drag his nose across them to know if they carry the scent of lavender as the rest of her. Dragging his eyes away from her body, he brings them back up to her face. 

Biting her lip, Sansa shrugs, not really knowing what to say. 

“..so, this is, erm..you aren’t..” Jon struggles to get the sentence, any sentence out at this moment, but finds it hard to concentrate as the blood in his entire body seems to be rushing towards his cock. Shifting his feet, he tries to ease the discomfort he feels in his breeches. 

Sansa covers her mouth as she tries to stifle her laughter. “I don’t usually forgo under garments, no.” Clearing her throat, she looks at Jon with earnesty. “I just thought I would...tonight. Just in case.”

Not knowing what to say, Jon just does the first thing that comes to mind. Grasping the sides of Sansa’s face, he smashes their lips together. Catching the gasp that comes out of Sansa, followed quickly by a moan, Jon roams her body with curious hands. The pads of his fingers brush against every path of skin they can find. 

Finding his way down at her breasts, Jon gently cups them as before, relishing in the way Sansa arches towards him as he lightly squeezes them, breaking their lips apart as her head lulls back. Brushing his thumbs over her nipples, Jon bites his lip as they quickly harden, their rosy color just barely lighter than the flush reaching down Sansa’s chest. 

Dipping down without warning, Jon’s hands graze down Sansa’s back, over the small of her back, until they reach the expanse of her bottom. Hands playing over each cheek, Jon firmly grips them, chuckling when Sansa squeaks at the sudden movement. Leaning his head into the side of her neck, Jon deeply inhaled the sweet scent coming off Sansa. 

Shivering from his touches, Sansa lets out a breathy moan. Feeling Jon dip down even lower, Sansa gasps as his fingers curl under her thighs, hefting her whole body up. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Sansa looks down at Jon, need written all over him as he walks them to the bed. 

With the jostle of each slow step, Sansa tightens her grip on Jon’s shoulder, as the friction of his body rubs against the center of her core. It’s different, almost intoxicating, each slide feeling every bit better than the last.

Reaching the edge of the bed, Jon places Sansa on it. As she leans back, the furs curling around her, Sansa bunches her first in Jon’s shirt as she pulls him down with her. One hand gripped Jon’s hair, the other wrapping around his shoulder, pulling him as close to herself as physically possible. Trailing open mouthed kisses down her neck to her chest, Jon groans when Sansa tugs a bit at his hair. 

Grinning like a madman, Jon looks up, only to find Sansa staring down at him, attempting to look innocent despite the twinkle in her eyes.  _ The sly minx,  _ Jon thinks. Rolling his hips into her, the feeling that fills him, a primal urge to keep going as Sansa intakes a sharp breath, rasping out a low moan, drives the heat in Jon’s manhood to full capacity, thoroughly throbbing. 

Feeling Jon roll his hips again, Sansa bites her lip, throwing her head back a bit at the sensation it brings to her core. Burning with heat and want, Sansa begs him to do it again, her hands clasping his back, nails digging into it through his thin shirt. She feels the burning skin just beneath her fingertips and Sansa knows that Jon feels exactly what she is feeling right now.

“I love hearing those noises come from you,” Jon pants out, the sound muffled as he continues planting kisses down her skin, covering every inch of her he can. “I wonder what other sounds I can bring out of you?” 

Taking one of her nipples in his mouth, Jon smiles around the plump breast as Sansa intakes another breath, her back arching as her fingers dig deeper into his back. Taking his time, Jon circles the hard knob with his tongue, flicking over it every so often. Glancing up then back down, he nips at it, grinning again as Sansa yanks at his hair again in surprise. Easing the burn with his tongue, Jon moves over and does the same thing with her other nipple. 

Squirming beneath him, Sansa can’t help but move her hips when Jon does something she never knew she would like. Raking her fingers across his back as he takes her whole breast in his mouth again, Jon’s shirt bunches in her fingers. Realizing there is too much between them, Sansa pushes him up.

“Your shirt,” She breathes, chest heaving as she tugs at the bottom of it. “It’s too much, take it off. I want to feel your skin against mine.” 

Quickly obeying, Jon removes his shirt, leaving his chest bare for Sansa to drink in. Leaning back on her elbows, Sansa reaches out, skimming over the strong muscle before her. Peering up, she gently pulls at Jon’s nipple, getting the same reaction he had gotten from her. 

A devilish gleam glows in his eyes as Jon smooths over Sansa’s chest, her stomach, hips, all the way down to her thighs. Leaning in, he kisses her, licking into her mouth, lost as they both lean back into the bed. As Sansa runs her hands up Jon’s back, the muscles rippling under her fingertips, Jon follows the path his hands had earlier, until he is suddenly below Sansa’s hips. 

Kissing each one, Jon trails down until he reaches the first thigh. Slowly spreading them apart, giving Sansa time to realize what is happening, Jon grazes a slow pattern into the skin with his tongue, making her jerk beneath his touch. 

“Shh, it’s alright Sansa.” He murmurs against the skin. “I’m going to show you how amazing this can be.” 

Before she can say anything, a purr passes through Sansa’s clenched teeth, as Jon’s mouth is suddenly there. At the base of her core! Fingers flying to grip his hair, Sansa can’t think of anything except of how amazing it feels. She had listened to others tell her of the Lord’s kiss, but never did she think it would feel like this. 

As Jon swipes his tongue along her folds, circling the small nub between them, the heat centered there grows. Moving her hips with each swipe, Sansa almost whines when Jon takes his mouth off her. Looking down, she is captivated by what she finds Jon doing. Sucking onto his finger, he looks up at Sansa, then gently he moves it throughout her folds, reaching down to her opening. Slowly pushing in, Jon marvels at how Sansa clenches her eyes, as his finger disappears inside of her. 

Slowly, he pushes in and out, unable to take his eyes off her as Sansa huffs out, his name at the end of each breath. Dipping back down, Jon sets a pace, keeping his tongue and finger moving at the same time. Adding another, he feels Sansa squirm beneath him, her hips jostling him. Placing his free arm on her hips, he pins them down as his tongue replaces his fingers. 

“Oh Gods!..Oh Jon!” Sansa groans. Panting now, she tries and fails to move her hips, instead settling for gripping onto Jon’s head with both hands now. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” She begged as she felt that now familiar heat begin to coil tighter and tighter.

Hearing her pleas urges Jon to flick his tongue up, loving the way the muscles around were beginning to quiver against him. Letting up, Jon grips onto Sansa’s thighs, lapping at her until he feels the muscles in her legs and body tense up. 

Back arching, Sansa shuts her eyes as the tight coil at her center explodes. Holding him there with an iron vice grip, Sansa begins to see spots against the darkness of her eyelids. Far too soon, the sensation begins to turn from bliss to irritation as Jon slowly keeps lapping away at her seams. 

Pulling him gently away, Sansa looks down as Jon lifts his head, straight faced. Letting her head fall back down, hands at her sides, Sansa let’s her eyes fall lazy. Noticing that Jon hasn’t said a word or moved, she tilts her head to the side trying to see him, when her pelvis arches up again. 

Leaning down onto his stomach, with one hand Jon pumps his fingers in and out of Sansa, while his other pins her hips to the bed, steadily using the juices from her earlier release to caress the nub at her core with his thumb. Stopping every so often as he listens to the mewls and grunts from Sansa as she begs and tells him not to stop anymore. 

As another ripple rolls through her body, Sansa feels the coil tighten again, faster than the last time, curling until it finally pops. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sansa curls her toes, digging into Jon’s back as her second release envelopes her, blocking out the sound of her screams of pleasure. 

Moving in, Jon tastes Sansa once more before carefully crawling his way up her body. Using his elbows, he lifts himself above her, trailing light kisses along her shoulder up to her neck to her cheeks. Nosing by her ear, he whispers small cantations until she finally opens her eyes again. 

Lazily looking up, Sansa finds the will to cup Jon’s cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. Tasting the saltiness of herself makes her feel light and heady as her tongue swipes together with Jon’s. 

“Th-that was..incredible.” Sansa pants out as she comes up for air. 

“I told you,” Jon murmured as he nosed along Sansa’s cheek bone to her jawline, “I am going to show you everything there is to enjoy about all of this.” 

“Everything?” 

Stopping his ministrations, Jon pulls himself back up to look down at Sansa. Her hair was spilled around her, looking like a fiery river against the white stark sheets. Her eyes were completely blown and half-lidded, her face and body flushed with a keen of sweat shining against her skin. She looked full in awe, relaxed and almost spent. 

“We don’t have to do everything,” Gently, Jon swiped a stray hair stuck to Sansa’s forehead back, reconnecting it with the rest of the fire. “Not if you’re too tired or don’t want to.”

Opening her eyes fully, Sansa placed her hands on Jon’s shoulders, gliding them up and down the surprisingly smooth skin. “I want to do everything.” Hefting her legs behind his hips, Sansa folds them at her ankles, pulling Jon down into her as she captured his lips. 

Bunching the sheets next to Sansa’s head, Jon let’s her hold him to her body, as he lazily rolls his hips against her core. Pulling away, Jon unties his breeches, releasing his throbbing cock from the linen. Discarding the last barrier between them, Jon climbs back onto Sansa, hesitating, he leans onto his side as she bends forward and takes in her look. 

Glancing back up at Jon, the complete trust she feels is almost heart stopping. Slowly reaching across, Sansa takes a few more glances up at Jon before her hand touches him. The sharp but quiet breath he takes is enough to almost stop her. But the solemn nod to keep going is what urges Sansa to grip onto Jon, letting the weight of him fall into her hand. 

He felt warm and solid in her hand. Smooth. Gently rubbing her thumb up and down, Jon held back a grunt, only for it to sound like a growl. Letting go, Sansa cupped Jon’s cheek, leaning over to kiss him tenderly. Cradling Sansa the same way, Jon adjusted to hover back over her. Gently caressing her, Jon moved his hand down, grazing and lightly touching as he went. 

Spreading her legs apart once more, Sansa felt a new emotion, nervous but eager. Almost the same she had felt when she first told Jon she loved him. And as he fit himself between her, Sansa knew that nothing else felt more right than this very moment. Than being with Jon. Than loving Jon. 

Stroking himself, Jon looked down and up again at Sansa, who nodded, her hand firm on his arm. Kneeling in, Jon grunted softly as the warmth of Sansa and the wetness from his earlier actions closed in around him. The soft gasp that comes from below him catches his attention. 

Staring back at him, gentle and full of trust, Sansa closes her eyes as Jon pushes further into her, her pink lips forming an O-shape. The fullness she feels is more than what she craved earlier. Once he is fully seated, Jon waits, breathing heavily already from the sensation of being wrapped so warm. 

Threading her fingers through his curls, Sansa wraps her legs around Jon’s waist again, moving him a bit, causing the coil from earlier to reignite. A smile begins to form on her mouth as Jon begins to thrust in and out of her. Further and further the warmth spreads out to her body, gathering. 

Hands splaying on the taut muscles on his back, Sansa kneads them with her fingers, trying to pull Jon into her deeper. Soft sounds spill off her lips as she begs him for more, to go faster. 

Picking up his pace, Jon curls his hand under Sansa’s waist as she reaches up to claw at his back, holding her body flush to him. The angle gives him a deeper thrust, one that makes his legs feel tense & Sansa start to quiver. The muscles begin to grip onto him in a way that makes him forget everything else, even his own name. 

“Gods, right there Jon..” Sansa mumbles out, gathering Jon’s face in her hands to taste his lips again. “..yes..right there..oh faster Jon!” 

“Mnm..feel so good..” Jon speaks into Sansa’s mouth, going faster, doing whatever Sansa asked of him. Pushing them further into the bed, Jon covers one of Sansa’s hands with his. As their breaths become more hasty, too fast to keep up with, Jon pulls back, leaning his forehead against Sansa’s, eyes scrunched up, trying to hold on. 

“Sansa..I..” Panting into their mingling air, Jon tries to catch his breath. Forcing his eyes open, Jon finds Sansa gazing back at him, trying just as hard to hold on. “I wanted to say..I love you Sansa. So much” 

Turning her hand, Sansa and Jon’s hands join, entwining in an embrace as it slowly drifts onto the bed next to their heads. 

“I love you..too Jon.” Sansa breathes, her free hand brushing the stray curls clinging to Jon’s face. 

Going faster and deeper still, Jon can feel his balls tighten up, higher and higher, just as Sansa feels the coil inside her tighten, to the point of breaking.

“Oh, Sansa,” Jon moans at the same time Sansa calls out, “Oh, Jon.” 

As Jon feels himself tipping over the edge, he braces the arm joined with Sansa, and reaches down with his free hand, between where he and Sansa are joined. Starting and speeding up to match the pace of his thrusts, Jon rubs at the hard, swollen numb he knows all too well now. 

“Oh, Gods!”

“Seven Hell’s!” 

Both Jon and Sansa scream out as their climax hits, hands digging into the bedding, bodies clinging to the other, not willing to let go. Slowly, both work the other through the light, the heat, the intensity of each one’s releases. 

Chest heaving, Jon slowly pulls out, careful not to hurt Sansa. As he leans over to his side, awfully spent, Sansa rolls over, curling up into his side. Gathering her in his arms, Jon grabs the furs beneath them, covering their too warm bodies. As he drifts, Jon watches the fire across the room, listening to the soft breathing of the woman he loves next to him. 

**

“I never thought it could be like this.” Sighing deeply, Sansa feels nothing but bliss as she burrows deeper into Jon’s side, leg thrown over him as she lays half on top of him. 

“It is.” Jon tells her, gliding his hand up and down her back. Shifting, he looks down at her. “For you, it will always be like this.” A wolfish glint appears in his eye as Jon smiles down at Sansa. “Better than this actually.” 

Sitting up, Sansa looks incredulously at him. “Better than this? What could possibly be better than this?” 

“There’s so much more than this,  _ my Lady _ ,” Jon rumbles, pulling his body up to lean on his elbow. Circling his finger on Sansa’s shoulder, lightly dragging it down her arm, he smiles as he feels her shiver beneath him. “We can learn it all together.” 

Eyes following the trail of his finger, Sansa shifts her legs, a warm wetness pooling. “What would we do?” 

Motioning for Sansa to move, Jon places his hands on her hips, lifting her up and settling her above him, to straddle his lap. Lightly squeezing her entices a giggle out of Sansa that makes Jon feel a lightness in his chest. 

“We can try something right now, if you feel up to it again?” Quirking his eyebrow, Jon looks up at Sansa expectantly. It had only been a short while but he could already feel himself getting hard again. 

Putting her hands on his shoulders, Sansa runs them up Jon’s neck, reaching behind to grip the curls at the nape of his neck. Unable to stop the grin forming, she leans in, “I am. Can we have wine after?” 

Returning her grin, Jon replies, “Anything you want.” 

  
  


**********

Gently rising from the bed, as to not disturb Jon, Sansa quickly gathers her belongings, redressing the best she can. Going back to the bed once she is back in her clothes, Sansa gently cradles Jon’s face, dragging her fingertips down his cheek as she pulls away. Watching him closely, he neither stirs nor awakens. He is in deep sleep, and likely will be until morning. Leaning down, she gives him a chaste kiss before leaving his chambers. 

Walking down the corridor, Sansa feels light and heavy at the same time. Her first time with Jon was more than what she had imagined or hoped for. Not only was he gentle when needed, he made her feel special, like the only woman in the lands, maybe even the world. 

Stopping at a corner, Sansa looks all ways before making her turn. Hastily but quiet as possible in the empty hall, Sansa quickens her pace. Hearing a scratching noise behind her, Sansa stops, turning and hiding in the shadows of a small hollow entry to her left. Looking to see if anyone was there, she is met with red eyes, glowing in the moonlight coming from a nearby window. 

“Ghost?” She whispers into the darkness. Sticking her hand out, something wet and firm meets her palm. “What are you doing here?” 

The direwolf pads over to Sansa, almost silent to her ears if it weren’t for his claws. Bending over a bit, she scratches the scruff behind his neck, just below his ear, his favorite spot. 

Nudging himself closer to Sansa, Ghost tilts his head up, his chin high enough to rest on her knees if she were to bend them more. Flaring his nose, Ghost butts his head into her body, almost playfully if it weren’t for the look Sansa could see in his eyes. A fleeting sense of guilt runs through her before she shakes it off. 

Getting in one last scratch, Sansa tries to get Ghost to go back to Jon’s room, unaware that the direwolf’s ears had perked up at something she couldn’t hear. As the wolf quickly jumped up to his haunches, body halfway in front of Sansa’s turned back, she quickly turned. 

“Lady Sansa?” Ignoring Sansa’s startled appearance, Brienne kept her glare solely on the growling direwolf not ten feet from her. Hand hovering over the hilt of her sword, she seemed unsure as to handle the situation. Though it didn’t seem like Ghost would rush to attack, she couldn’t be sure. 

Recomposing herself, Sansa nodded to Brienne. Looking down, she put her hands in a downward motion. “Ghost, that’s enough. It’s only Brienne.” 

As if nothing had happened, Ghost retreated back to his docile state, though kept his head tilted to Brienne, who in turn did the same. Letting the stare down go on for a moment longer, Sansa moved to Brienne’s side, waving her hand to Ghost. “Brienne can escort me back to my chambers, Ghost. Go back to Jon.”

When Ghost didn’t move, Sansa glanced at Brienne from the side. The woman hadn’t moved in the slightest but Sansa practically felt the worry and irritation coming off of her. It filled the hallway, leaving nothing else. Hugging out a breath, Sansa moved forward, crouching down before Ghost. 

Placing her hands in his fur, fingers curled into the softness, Sansa leaned in, speaking low enough for only the direwolf to hear. After she was done, Sansa got back to her feet, waiting to see if Ghost would listen this time. 

Staring at both her and her sworn knight for a final moment, Ghost turned, and headed back the direction Sansa had come from. Releasing a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, Sansa turned, to find Brienne watching her. 

Nodding her head slightly, Sansa moved aside, to continue her way back to her chambers. She hadn’t expected to see Brienne so soon, but if she were already on the way, might as well head back together. 

As they walked, Sansa could feel the other woman’s eyes flit back and forth between her and the walls passing by them. She knew exactly what Brienne was thinking, had been thinking for a while. She didn’t approve. Not that she would ever say it, though her demeanor didn’t hide much to the imagination to know what she thought. 

Sansa knew well enough how to read others to know what was more likely going through their minds. And this time was no different. Lifting her head a bit higher, Sansa side-eyed Brienne when the woman looked her way. The unspoken words remained that way, left unsaid as they made their way down the final hall. They didn’t have the time to argue. 

Stopping at her door, Sansa looked down the halls, before slipping inside. As she shut the door behind her, Sansa caught Brienne’s eye once more, but instead of anger or judgement, she only found sadness. Closing the door shut, she shut out the rest of her thoughts in the back of her mind that came with the look. Now wasn’t the time. 

**

A soft knock came shortly after as Sansa was standing in her solar, getting the last of what she needed. Calling out for them to come in, Sansa turns around, checking she had everything. 

“Are you ready, my Lady?” Looking over her shoulder, Brienne was standing in the doorway, waiting for her. 

“Yes, I am. Just one last thing.” Heading back into her bedroom, Sansa walked to the small desk she kept in the corner. Taking off the pin she kept sewn into the secret pocket of her cloak, Sansa set it on the paper lying in the middle of the desk. Looking around once more, she went back to Brienne. “I’m ready. Shall we?” 

Nodding swiftly, Brienne gestured for Sansa to lead the way. As they set off, Sansa’s only thought is the same she whispered to Ghost,  _ Go protect Jon, so that I can protect the North.  _

  
  


  
  



	10. Chapter 10

Stirring softly, Jon turns over, reaching out to find the spot next him empty. Squinting into the still dark room, barely a few rays of dull sunlight coming in through the cracks in the drapes, Jon gets onto his elbow and looks around the chambers. The fire has dwindled to embers. Laying back down, Jon rubs at his eyes, getting rid of the haze still clouding his mind. 

He hasn’t slept this deep in ages. Cracking his eyes again, a smile pulls at the edges of his mouth as he remembers the night before.  _ Sansa.  _ A giddiness fills him as he throws his arms over his head, covering most of his face. Running one hand through his hair, Jon can’t help but feel a sort of peace and belonging. Just knowing Sansa had been comfortable enough to take the last step with Jon makes his heart thud faster, but in a good way. 

As he finally rises from the bed to get ready for the day, Jon can’t help but think of how much he already wants to see Sansa and hug her close to him. Maybe even steal her away later just to give her a kiss. Smiling as he puts on the last of his garments, Jon runs his hand through his hair again, getting a band to wrap it into a small bun. He chuckles, thinking of how nothing could dampen his mood, not even the usual meetings with grumpy old lords.

Once he’s done getting ready he heads to the great hall for breakfast. Entering, he sees some of the Lord’s, who were staying in the castle, eating away at the food laid before them, but when he glances to the head table, it’s missing someone. Sansa isn’t there, which is unusual. As he sits, a kitchen maid approaches with Jon’s breakfast and he grabs her attention. 

“Where is Lady Sansa?” He asks. The maid takes a step back from setting his plate down and quickly adverts her gaze to the ground, whether it be from respect or with fear, he does not know.

“She requested to have her breakfast brought to her solar, Your Grace.” The maiden’s voice is soft and a bit meek, as Jon almost strains to properly hear. 

“Did she give any inclination as to why?”

“She wanted a peaceful morning due to exhaustion, Your Grace. It seems Lady Sansa didn’t get much rest last night and it brought a headache along. She’s already had milk of the poppy given to her by the Maester.” Jon’s mind flashes with Sansa underneath him.

“Very well, thank you.” The kitchen maid nods her head before taking her leave.

Jon glances down to Sansa’s seat. He can’t remember the last time she wasn’t sat at his side. He resolves he will seek her out after he’s spoken to the Maester at arms.

  
  


**********

  
  


“My Lady, would you like to stop and rest?” Brienne asks. It was already close to midday and they had only made one short stop so far.

“No, we need to keep going.” Sansa replies.

“I mean no offense my lady, but we have been riding since before dawn,” Looking around them, she notices some of the men focusing to keep their eyes open and sit up straight. They needed to stop. “While the men and I are seasoned for strenuous travel, I’m afraid you are not. I highly suggest we stop soon so we all may eat and rest before continuing on.”

“Brienne, I’ve made long distance trips before.” Sansa gripes, not bothering to look away from the path in front of her. “From Winterfell to King’s Landing when I was young, and back. I’m sure I can handle a week's ride.”

Feeling the pain in her lower back and bottom, Sansa resists the urge to readjust herself on her horse. Her legs felt dull and her arms and hands were already sore from gripping onto the reins. She turns to glance at the men again, before her eyes finally land on Brienne. There are dark circles under her eyes, she can’t imagine she herself looks any better. Maybe they should take a break.

“Very well, we can stop as soon as we find a safe secluded area.” 

“You are very resilient, Lady Sansa, just like your mother.” Brienne’s eyes hold more than she lets on, and Sansa’s heart aches. She smiles at Brienne.

“Thank you.” Is all Sansa can manage. Her eyes trail after Brienne as the other woman trots off to relay Sansa’s order to the men.

  
  


**********

  
  


“Now that we are done talking about strategies,” Davos says after the last of the men from the short meeting leave, “I’ve been meaning to ask what in seven hells happened at the last gathering.”

Jon winces, he knows very well what Ser Davos wants to speak about. His outburst wasn’t a pretty scene he imagines.

“What about it?” Jon casually asks, gaze steady on one of the maps laid out on the table. 

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” When Jon raises his eyes, Davos temperly adds, “ _ Your Grace.” _

“Lady Sansa was working out plausible solutions and rather than talk things out with the council at another given time you simply shut her out on the spot.”

Scoffing, Jon pulls himself up to full height, crossing his arms. “It was a horrible idea, what she was saying.”

“Why? Because she suggested going by herself in your place?” It was Davos’ turn to scoff now. “Lady Sansa, who is a smart woman, something I assumed you already knew, has come up with brilliant plans before. Might I remind you, she saved our asses during the battle of the bastards. It wouldn’t kill you to listen to her.” Jon can’t help chuckling.

“No need to remind me Ser Davos, she never fails to lecture me that listening to her wouldn't be such a bad idea.” Smile fading, Jon gets a torn look in his eyes, walking sideways as he sits on a nearby stool. “But to send her down South to treat with a Targaryen? Their told history doesn’t hold fond memories when it comes to reasoning. Besides, she could be held prisoner just for her name. We can’t risk that, not for some measly supplies. Do you know how that would look?” 

“Those measly supplies could win us favor in this coming war and you know it. You would be able to see it too Jon, if you weren’t acting like a stubborn, love sick fool.” 

Jon’s full attention snaps to Davos, who bore right back at him. Lips curling slightly, his voice lowered. “Careful of your next words Ser Davos. Remember who it is you’re speaking to.” 

“I meant no offense. But son, I hope for your sake, that no one can see through you like I can.” Folding his arms over, Davos actually does carefully choose his next words. “All I am saying is to at least consider Lady Sansa’s words, even if you don’t agree with them. I’m sure we could send a good entourage of men to treat with this queen. Hell, I would be more than willing to join such men for the sake of the North.”

Without another word from Jon, Ser Davos rises from the chair, “I’ll leave you to it, Your Grace.” He bows his head and leaves.

Jon sits back and thinks back to Sansa’s words the day of the hall meeting. He sits there for a long while before deciding to seek out Sansa in the Godswood, where she usually is during this time of day. On his way there, as Jon walks through the grounds he glances to Lord Baelish who smiles at him. The sight of the wretched man makes his stomach turn and twist. He truly can’t stand him. 

Jon finally makes it to the Godswood but as he looks around, he doesn't find Sansa there. Figuring she still must be under the weather, he decides to go to her solar. If she really isn’t well, he would rather be able to check on her himself, make sure she has everything she needs. Though he hopes she is just tired. 

When he knocks on her door, there’s no answer. Knocking once more, Jon waits for a moment until he decides to just walk in, hoping not to wake Sansa if she’s sleeping . An unsettling feeling settles in his gut as Jon pushes open the door. Walking in, Jon immediately stops. No candles are lit, and there's no fire going. Quickly striding over to her bedroom door, Jon knocks loudly, silently praying that she is too tired to hear anything. Pushing past her door, he finds it just as empty as her solar, no fire either. He walks around and everything seems untouched, as if no one had been there all day. He walks by her vanity and finds a scroll with the seal of a direwolf.

Taking the parchment in his hand, Jon sits on the edge of her bed. His heart is pounding so hard, it’s the only thing filling his ears as he breaks the seal and unravels the paper, to see the scratch of Sansa’s handwriting. 

“King Jon, as Lady of Winterfell I have decided to travel south to Dragonstone as your emissary. I will speak to Daenerys Targaryen in your stead in hopes of getting the necessary supplies for the coming war. My sworn shield is at my side along with Stark bannermen. I will return soon. Lady Sansa of Winterfell.” A small direwolf was signed with wax next to her signature. It was Sansa, no doubt. 

Coughing, Jon inhales sharply. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath while reading the note. He thinks to this morning and tries to pinpoint when exactly she could have left, but for that he needs to speak to the last person who might have seen her. The kitchen maid. He leaves Sansa’s rooms, anger and fear brewing inside him, slamming the doors behind him.

Rushing through the halls, Jon ignores most of the greetings he receives, not intentionally but he isn’t focused on anything else but getting the answers he needs. When he finally gets to the kitchens, he looks frantically before he comes across the kitchen maid who spoke to him that morning, nearing one of the other exits, probably leaving to tend to something else. Marching up to her, Jon grabs her by the arm more forcefully than he really intends to, and drags her out to the hall for some semblance of privacy where no ears can hear them.

Pushing her against a wall, hand still tightly gripping her arm, he looks down at her. Grinding his teeth, he tells her, “I need you to answer me with complete and whole honesty, no more lies. Did you or did you not see Lady Sansa this morning?” The maiden, her name gone from his mind completely, looks absolutely terrified. Jon knows exactly how she feels. It’s what he feels right now. 

“No, your grace.” Her lip trembles and her eyes are watering.  _ Fuck!  _ She has been gone longer than he anticipated.

“What do you know?” Slightly shaking her, Jon doesn’t have the wits to care if he does it too hard or not. He needs to know. “She had to have given you more information before giving you the task of  _ lying  _ to me.”

The maiden frantically nods her head as she says, “She left a couple hours before dawn, while all of Winterfell slept.” 

Jon’s grip loosens as the words spill freely from the woman’s mouth. He can feel himself slowly deflating as he closes his eyes, bowing his head. 

“I packed provisions for them. Lady Brienne and her squire travel with her along with some Stark bannermen.” As the tears finally stream down her face, she offers a small, “Please. That’s all I know, Your Grace.” 

Jon finally releases her and nods at her to move along. He watches as she scurries away. He has no words right now, just feelings of anger and betrayal running deep into his bones. He should have known. Jon takes a deep breath before sulking off into the direction of the training yards. Nothing like a sword to a straw dummy to clear the mind.

  
  


**********

  
  


Standing by the window, hands clasped behind him, Jon looks out at the view of the courtyard and the people making their way through. To them, it’s just another day, preparing and doing their daily tasks. As it should have been for him. Instead, his mind is running nonstop of all the scenarios this plan of Sansa’s could turn out. 

In practically all of them, he doesn’t see this turning out the way he knows she hopes it will. He sees himself going to war for her, to bring her back because she was taken prisoner. Or worse. The images of anything more poison his mind, make him want to swing his sword until there is nothing left. It makes him sick, all these thoughts of what could come to pass. 

Jon berates himself for not seeing this sooner. Or at all. He should have known that Sansa wouldn’t let this go. He should have been more open to what she had to say or at least tried to talk to her. He shouldn’t have just shut her out that day, ending the conversation, thinking it was over. Now that it’s done, Jon thinks of how there are a lot of things he should have done. 

Jon doesn’t stand there for too long, when a knock at the door brings him back to the present. “Come in.”

Ser Davos steps through the door, “Your Grace.”

“Take a seat please.” Jon sits in his chair, gesturing to the one in front of his desk. Davos does as told, quietly observing Jon expectantly.

“I assume I’m not here for friendly chatter.”

“Sansa’s gone.” The look on the other man's face makes Jon want to laugh. It’s the same expression he wore when he first realized she had left. 

“What do you mean gone?”

“Gone, as in she’s not in Winterfell.” He can’t help the bitter chuckle that escapes his lips as he closes his eyes and squeezes the skin between his brows. “She took it upon herself to go to Dragonstone in ‘my stead’ to speak to the Dragon Queen.”

“Seven hells Jon, why would she do such a thing?” Davos sits back, appalled.    
  


“For the North. She would do anything for the safety of our people. Sansa knows that without dragon glass we are as good as dead.” Sitting back defeated, Jon gets an empty look in his eyes. “To her, if that means treating with some false queen then that’s what she’ll do, it's the woman she’s grown to be. I was so blind to see her reasoning because I was so afraid of the possibility of losing her that I pushed her to make such rash actions.”

“Jon, don’t blame yourself. None of us could have seen this coming.” The older man says, still trying to process everything. 

Pushing his chair back, Jon sits forward, elbows on his knees as he shakes his head. “How can I not Davos? If I had just listened, we wouldn’t be in this position. I would probably be the one making this journey instead of...instead of Sansa.” His eyes begin to glisten as he stops, his throat already tightening. He tries to blink the tears back, but it’s so hard. 

“Jon, that’s enough. We both know how stubborn Lady Sansa can be, but she is a smart woman. She wouldn’t have gone without thinking about the consequences that might come from this.” Davos gets a purposeful look on his face, as he stands and begins to gesture with his hands. “Firstly, I highly doubt this  _ Queen  _ is going to hold your sister hostage and use her against you. All of the North including the Vale would revolt and go to war for her.” Jon thinks about this. He’s not wrong.

“How am I supposed to give this information to the Lords?” Jon asks. He can already hear the shouting start in his head. 

“Sanction her mission. Say you gave her the okay to go and she left the minute she could. That time is of an essence right now.” Nodding his head, Jon agrees, it might just be their best option. 

“I’ll call for a meeting with the lords then.” As the other man nods his head, Jon adds, “I’d like to ask you for a favor Davos.”   
  
“What’s that?”   
  


“Will you travel South, on my behalf? Try to reach Sansa’s party before she sets sail and join her?” A sad, crooked smile mousses it’s way onto Jon’s face. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to jump on a horse and go after her myself.”

“No, I don’t think leaving the North on it’s own would be wise.” Seeing the hurt and pain in Jon’s eyes, he knows he damn well can’t deny him this. “Of course, Your Grace, I’ll go. Though, if I may ask, why aren’t you giving me the task of bringing her back home?”

Jon chuckles, though there isn’t any humor in it. “You can very well try, but I know her, as do you, and Sansa won’t change her mind. Her plan is to go to Dragonstone. She will make that happen one way or another.” Ser Davos nods his head, already fully aware of how Sansa might react. “Though,” Jon continues, “If you think it might be possible to bring her back, make it your first option. If not, please go with her.” 

“Very well, I’ll take some of the best of Stark men with me.” Turning towards the door, Davos makes his way to leave. “We won’t let anything happen to the Lady. We will leave tonight, if we push hard enough we should reach her before they reach White Harbor. ”

“Thank you Davos. At least this way, you can assist her in any way she needs when she faces Daenerys Targaryen.” Jon thinks for a minute, standing as he quickly adds, “If at all, could you and the men leave outside of Winterfell? If we are to make it seem like an actual mission, then it would make sense for you to already be gone, seeing as no one has seen Sansa all day.” He will have to think of an excuse good enough to convince the lords. Maybe tell them they both had left at dawn.

“I’ll do my best, your Grace.” With that, Davos leaves, setting off to tell his best men their new mission.

  
  


**********

  
  


Jon stands in front of his father's statue, and thinks back to the last time he ever saw him. When he was leaving for the Night's Watch, his father along with Arya and Sansa were heading south to King’s Landing. Back when everything was supposed to end differently. Casting his eyes down, Jon wonders what they would have said if either had thought they would both die in those places? The only difference being he came back to the land of the living.

He thinks back to their conversation about his mother. A heaviness fills him, knowing the only person who would ever know about her is gone now, the truth buried down below with them. Leaving Jon with the possibility of never knowing where he really came from. It’s almost funny how life works.

Continuing down the crypts, Jon comes across the faces of Catelyn and Robb. Their statues intricately carved to resemble their faces. Statues that stand over empty graves, their bodies desecrated and dumped somewhere to never be found. Catelyn might have hated his very existence, and Jon might have resented her for it, but she didn’t deserve to watch her son and daughter by law be murdered in cold blood. And she didn’t deserve to lose her life either.

None of them did really. Not for the sake of those who only bring misery and pain. The Starks never deserved any of the things they were dealt with. 

“Reminiscing about the past?” Jon’s body grows cold, and not from the damp, wet breeze from the crypts.

“You shouldn’t be down here, Baelish. These crypts are for Starks, and only Starks should be down here.” Jon turns to look at him, he can’t even bother to disguise the hatred in his tone.

“According to that then you shouldn’t be down here either, being a bastard and all.” The slimy man replies, that smug smile on his face making Jon’s fist clench.

“Ned Stark was my father. Robb and Rickon Stark were my brothers. I might not share their name but I do have every right to be here.” Baelish looks around in that annoying way that makes Jon wish his head would roll right off for doing so. There’s silence for about a minute before Baelish continues.

“So the King in the North decided to listen to his sister’s pleas, and let her travel on his behalf.” The glint in Littlefinger’s eyes is a dangerous one. “I do wonder, what it was that could have possibly changed your mind.”

“What do you want, Lord Baelish? I already discussed the situation with everyone earlier.”

“All of the information? Is that so? Feels to me like something was amiss.” Slowly stepping his way closer, Littlefinger takes his time looking at Catelyn’s statue, the meer look of desire repulsing Jon in a vile way. 

“And what do you think that could possibly be?” Jon clenches his teeth, the ache of it making his jaw sore. It was taking so much not to rip into the man before him, just on principle. 

Humming to himself, Baelish squints his eyes, trying very hard to convey innocence. “I just think it’s a bit odd how a couple of days ago, you were so adamant about letting Lady Sansa go, and all of a sudden she’s gone, with only your word to say that you’ve sent her on this important mission of yours.”

“It’s the truth.” Jon was growing tired of repeating the same testament. He had enough trouble convincing the other lords that the correct decision had been made, even if they didn’t believe one word of it. At least they had enough sense not to continue questioning his word. 

“Is that why I spotted Ser Davos and a few banner men leaving outside Winterfell?” Littlefinger slowly maneuvers around Jon, keeping his distance. “Where no one could see them taking off after you said they had left together at dawn?” 

Narrowing his eyes, Jon turns in a full circle, in tune with Lord Baelish’s movements. “What are you getting at, Lord Baelish?”

“I think the truth is that Lady Sansa decided to vanish.” Jon furrows his eyebrows. Littlefinger ignores the facade, continuing on. “Even used the excuse of speaking to Daenerys Targaryen as a way to make it seem reasonable.” 

“And why would she do that? She has her home back, finally free from those who would want to do her harm, with her people safe. It’s all she has ever cared about.” Jon doesn’t like the way this is going, but he is too riled up to let this snake get the best of him anymore. “With the intentions of keeping the North free, it’s why we agreed for her to go in my stead. As a way to ensure the North is never left on its own, open to  _ any coward  _ who would try to take it again, a home that was never theirs in the first place.” 

Jon doesn’t miss the anger that flashes across Littlefinger’s face. Nor does he care if the other man witnesses the mildly pleased look Jon carelessly reveals at having finally pegged the man where it obviously hurts. 

“Or maybe she’s left to get away from her wretched brother.” Baelish says, disgust lacing his words.   
  
“What in seven hells are you talking about?” Jon demands, smirk gone, furry burning brightly now. This was exactly what Littlefinger had hoped for.

“I lived in King’s Landing a long time,  _ Your Grace. _ Long enough to know how brother and sister relationships work.” The smile and kind facade he wears, entirely disappears, revealing nothing but cold malice. “I know exactly how they can run amuck. I know enough as well, to see, even if others ignore it, that you are taking Lady Sansa’s kind and generous heart for granted.” Clasping his hands inside the cloth of his sleeves, Lord Baelish spits out the next words. “Did you honestly believe she would ever return your sick and twisted affecti—“

Littlefinger doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Jon lunges forward, all sense of right lost, and throws him against the rocky, jagged wall behind him. All he can see is red, and what he really wants to see is the red of this vile creature’s blood pooling beneath his feet. 

“I’m going to give you only one chance Baelish,” Jon seethes, tightening his grip against Littlefinger, “Don't finish that sentence. You don’t know anything. If I were you, I would forget even mentioning this.” 

Clutching onto Jon’s arm, Lord Baelish tried and failed to pry him off. “I will do no such thing! I know exactly what Sansa needs, and it isn’t another  _ person _ ,” He quickly gasps in another breath, the act getting harder, “taking control of her. I know I would never hurt her, just as I would never have hurt Catelyn. I love Sansa, as I did her mother.” 

Pulling the small man back, Jon slams him back into the wall, hearing a loud thud as Petyr’s head knocks against the strong rocks of the crypt. The sound would almost be sickening, if it weren’t for the urge to do it again, and again, until he no longer had to. 

Petyr’s grip on Jon’s arm begins to loosen as his vision begins to spot, the only thing keeping him upright now, is Jon. His face begins to turn colors as the air is practically being stolen from him. 

Leaning in closely, only letting up his grip to ensure the man has enough air and can hear him, Jon slowly and deliberately words out, “Keep her name out of your mouth. If I were you, Lord Baelish, I would keep all of these silly ideas of yours inside your head.” Looking like a true wolf, Jon growls out, “Repeat any of this to anyone, at all, and I won’t think twice about taking Longclaw through you, and no one would give it a second thought to me doing so. They might even thank me.”

Squeezing and jerking him around once more, Jon leans back. “Do I make myself clear?” Baelish is reluctant to agree, but he weakly nods his head as best as he can with Jon’s hand pressing against it. 

Letting go, Jon stalks out of the crypts, leaving him to catch his breath and soothe his throat.

Littlefinger eyes trail after Jon, moving slowly, trying to regain his balance. He remembers of another time when he was facing down a different Stark man. The same temper and anger. 

Though the only difference between the two, was this time, Littlefinger actually felt the fear gnawing at him from inside. Despite his best efforts, he didn’t hesitate to believe for a second, that Jon Snow wouldn’t fulfill his promise of helping him meet an untimely death. 

As he made his way back to the surface and out of the crypts he hated so much, an unsettling feeling passed over Petyr. He was losing the game. 

  
  


**********

  
  


Jon is rummaging through his chest at the end of his bed, looking for another jerkin since his had ripped the one he had, when he comes across a scroll. He rolls it around his hand, taking special attention to the unbroken seal. A direwolf.

Closing the chest, he takes a seat on the edge of it as he breaks the seal and once again comes across the handwriting of Sansa.

“Jon, I hope you find this before you think to do anything too rash. I also am hoping that you’re not too angry with me. I wish I could have been able to do this with you knowing and supporting me. But we both know that was not possible.

I am doing all of this because the safety of our people is paramount. It was necessary and I believe I can speak with Daenerys Targaryen and make her see reason, at least enough to give us the obsidian. It’s something I have to try. I wholly believe she won’t hurt me. I’m but a lady. 

I want you to know that last night was not some ploy or some sort. Last night, for me, was me finally being comfortable enough to be with you, as a man and woman are. As those who love and care deeply for one another should. I love you and I promise I’ll come back to you. 

I sincerely hope when I do return, that you’ll find a way to look past what I have done for the North. What I did for you. For us.

Signed, Sansa Stark.”

Jon holds the letter in his hand and sits there for what feels like forever. He’s not angry anymore, not really. In all honesty, he just wishes Sansa had spoken to him. Then again it’s not like he had made it easy for her. She took matters into her own hands, just like Catelyn had once, from what he is told. So… Can he really blame her?

  
  


**********

  
  


“Do you think he knows by now?” The crackling fire drowns out most of Sansa’s voice, but it still carries over the small area. It was a silly question, but it passed the time.

Traveling through the entirety of the night, resting only at midday, before continuing on for the remaining day had tired out most everyone. At sunset, they decided to stop and rest for the evening. The second that light broke the horizon, they would be off again. No one wanted to get to White Harbor as soon as possible more than Sansa. 

“I do believe so, my lady.” One of the men from around the fire responded, huddling closer to the flames, reaching out his hands. As he looked up, Sansa could see the skin peeling from the sides of his nose and mouth. It made her want to cover her head with another hooded cloak. Smiling a bit, he winced as he joked, “Perhaps the King has even sent out a search party for us already.” 

Attempting and failing at a smile back, Sansa turns back to the fire. It was late, and shivering by the flames wasn’t going to make time move faster, so most of the men went into their nearby tents, hoping to get some rest before they set off again.

As the noise settled into nothing but a numbing silence, only filled by the crackling wood, Brienne moved from her spot, sitting closer to Sansa. Looking around, the rest of their makeshift camp seemed to have settled and were already asleep, as best they could in the cold. 

Roaming her eyes back over to Sansa, Brienne hunched over, keeping her voice as quiet as she could, hoping the fire and the wind would drown it out. “You do realize that the King might have just done that, sent out a party to come get you.” 

Huffing out air through her nose, Sansa balls her hands inside her cloak. “I do. Which is why I had us leave during the night, and why I wanted us to continue throughout the day. We will rise early again and make most of the day tomorrow.” Glancing, she met Brienne’s hard glare with her cold one. “Even if Jon did send someone, I doubt they would reach us in time. Not with more than a day's start on them.”

Narrowing her eyes, Brienne turns and shakes her head. Under her breath, Sansa barely makes out, “Love can make you do desperate things.”

Eyes slowly widening, Sansa turns her entire body to her sworn knight, sitting up straighter. Suddenly, the cold wasn’t so bad. She squints into the dark, checking to make sure they really were alone. 

“Brienne, what did you promise me back in the woods? When I was on the run from wild dogs and even wilder men.” 

Surprised by the sudden question of her oath, Brienne takes a pause before responding. “I swore to protect you from harm, to give my life for you, if the need ever arose.” She blinked, before she added, “And to keep your counsel.” 

“Time and again, you have kept your word.” Reaching out, Sansa gently grasped Brienne’s arm, giving it a soft squeeze before retreating back to the warmth of her cloak. “You have also heeded me of things you believed I wasn’t already wary of. Questioned anything out of the ordinary and even advised me when I needed it most.”

“I trust you, Brienne.” Both women remained silent after the sentiment. A long time passed before either of them looked away

“Thank you, Lady Sansa.” It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the affirmation, she did. But Brienne knew Sansa, enough to know she wasn’t done. Not yet. She had to bite her tongue to keep from dryly laughing when she was right.

“Which is why,” Sansa said, carefully drawing out the words, “I’m giving you the liberty to say what it is you’re really thinking.”

Holding her breath, the sworn knight looked down at the ground, contemplating if it was worth it. 

“Either voice your thoughts now, or lose the chance to do so freely again.” A winter rose. That is what Sansa reminded her knight of. Appearances could be deceiving if one didn’t remember that roses still have thorns. Cold, icy thorns.

Head held high, Brienne decided it was now or never. “I agree with you. About needing allies. Of how you believe that if we can convince Daenerys Targaryen, we have a chance to win the war.” Sansa stayed silent. “I don’t agree with how you are putting not only yourself, but these men, and possibly the North itself, in danger just because you feel you have to prove a point.” 

This wasn’t what she meant. “Keep going.” 

“I don’t believe you want me to,  _ my lady _ .” Again, she stayed silent. “Very well.” Softly inhaling, Brienne tried to tread lightly. “I also don’t believe you realize how much pain our new..journey could cause if something went wrong.” 

“How much pain Jon would be in, if you, lady Sansa, got hurt. Or worse.” Now that she had started, Brienne didn’t feel she could stop the words from leaking out anymore. No more holding back. “Whether this be my place or not, one thing I do know, is how badly things can go wrong for those on the wrong side of..-“  _ Passion, Desperation. Love? _

The rest of her words catch in her throat. Just saying it out loud, would make it real. Brienne knew she wasn’t wrong, not with all the signs, the small instances, the even bigger ones. She would be damned if most of the rest of Wintertell didn’t suspect it either. The mighty lords, at the very least. Especially Ser Davos, someone Brienne pegged as being able to see through it all, picking up on clues just as she did. 

Clearing her throat, Brienne picks up where she had suddenly cut off. “The wrong side of.. ill-fated decisions.” The way Sansa’s eyes narrow, icing over, colder than the bitter wind, tells Brienne she didn’t do a fast or good enough job of covering the truth that had slipped through.

After a moment of nothing, Sansa finally spoke. “You don’t believe we will come back from this trip, do you?” Before Brienne can even answer her question, Sansa keeps on. “That I am sending us all on a mission that will get us all killed.”

“I think that we should have thought more about this than suddenly leaving to face only the Gods know what.” 

“You think I wanted to leave Winterfell? My home? One of the last things I have that means everything to me?” Biting her tongue, Sansa inhales to steady her slowly rising voice back down. “That I want to go back South, to treat someone I don’t know, and surely don’t trust? Someone who might just as well betray me the minute we get there?”

Fuming, Brienne jerks forward. “If you didn’t want to leave, then why even plan this? What was the point?” 

“On the chance that I am right! Not to prove anything to anyone, but to actually have one of our plans work for a change. To keep the North safe.”

Brienne grits her teeth. “ _ The North. _ ”

Sansa knew what, no who, Brienne really meant. One of the things she could count on about the other woman was she always kept Sansa on her feet. But this time was different. She had had enough of this conversation. “I think we are done here,  _ Brienne.  _ Thank you again for counsel. And your honesty.”

With nothing left to say but, “we should get some rest,” both Sansa and Brienne stood, shuffling as they each made their way to their tents. Parting, Brienne turned to her own tent after making sure Sansa had made it inside hers. 

“Brienne.” 

Turning back halfway, Sansa stood in the entry of her tent, arms folded in on herself, fingers curling over the sides of her cloak. Looking down and back up again, she changed. She didn’t look as stony as she always seemed. Instead, to Brienne, Sansa looked almost heartbroken. 

“I meant it when I said that I don’t regret what I have done.” Her grip on the fur between her hands tightened. “I would do it again, if it meant it would come to this. I believe in saving that which is truly worth fighting for.” 

Slightly shrugging her shoulder, Sansa turned, lifting the cover of her tent. With one last look over her shoulder, she added, “And I really do trust you.” With that, she disappeared inside the shelter.

Staring after the spot where Sansa had been, Brienne lowered her head. Despite it all, what it all could mean, it baffled her to think Sansa would do this over again. Maybe Brienne didn’t understand any of it. Or maybe she understood it too well.

**

They traveled as much as they possibly could over the next few days, stopping only when necessary, to rest, or get more supplies from small towns they passed through. Neither Sansa nor Brienne spent much time talking except when they needed to. Short conversations with the men. 

Waking from a restless night, the scouts informed Sansa of how far they were from White Harbor, only about less than 50 miles, if their memory served them well still. 

Eager to set off and reach their destination, everyone worked diligently to pack their belongings. It wasn’t until Sansa heard the whining of horses, ones that weren’t a part of her own party, that she emerged from her tent, alarmed but not entirely surprised at what she realized what was happening. 

Racing to them, was a small band of riders. Eight or ten, maybe closer to a dozen horses came barreling towards them until they were right on the group, circling them in a loose form. 

Stopping just feet from where Sansa stood, head held high, Brienne and Podrick by her sides, Ser Davos jumped down from his horse, his men following suit. 

“You stop here. All of you.” Walking forward, Ser Davos meets Sansa head on. “On behalf of the King, you are to go back to Winterfell, Lady Sansa. Immediately.”

  
  


*********

  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So for this chapter, there is a small time jump, the scenes setting up what is happening over the next few days. We hope it’s not confusing! Enjoy!
> 
> -Vela

Sidling to a stop at another fork in the road, Arya looks around. Even with all the snow, she knows which way to go. Nudging her horse with her foot, she jerks the reins onto the correct path. She isn’t that far from Winterfell, less than a few days ride left and she will be home.

At least that’s what she hopes to find there. Passing through the towns, Arya kept overhearing different rumors of what had really happened. The Bolton’s were slaughtered by a different family who took claim of the North for their own. That Wildlings had finally come down and ransacked every town and harbor from the wall to Winterfell, leaving nothing left.

And then there was the rumor she held onto since that tavern way back, the one Hot Pie told her. That Jon Snow had rode down from Castle Black and taken the North back. That he was King in the North. He and Sansa had won the Battle of the Bastards and that only the Starks were leading again, as they would have all along if her family hadn’t been slaughtered.

“Yah,” Arya grunts as she whips the reins a bit, her horse gaining a faster gallop. She hasn’t been home in years. It’s been too long. As the cold, frozen dew droplets land on her face as she speeds by, Arya counts the hours it will take to reach Winterfell. 

She had to see it for herself. If it was true, then it’s where she belonged. Just like the others, it was time for this wolf to return to the pack. 

**********

No one moves. Not for a long moment, as they all stare each other down. 

“No.” All eyes shift to Sansa, who stays rooted to her place. 

Folding his hands behind his back and cocking his head to the side, Davos doesn’t yield. “I’m sorry, my Lady, I don’t believe you understand. That wasn’t a request.” 

“I understood well enough, Ser Davos.” Lifting her chin, Sansa does her best to rein in her annoyance. “My response to your order is no. I’m not going back.” 

Turning away from him, heading back into her tent to gather her remaining things, Sansa barely makes a last glance to her side as she says, “If the King wishes for me to go back so badly, he is more than happy to come for me himself.” 

“Now wait-” Barely taking a few steps forward, Davos immediately stops as the sound of swords are drawn from their sheaths, all pointed towards him and the men he brought. They too unsheath their swords as some jump down beside ser Davos, the rest staying on their horses. With all weapons drawn and everyone now wary, Davos curses inwards, knowing he has to think quickly. Retreating the steps he had taken, he slowly raises his hands, speaking calmly. “Alright, everyone calm yourselves. No need to do anything we would all regret.” 

Head nodding to his men, Davos gestures for them to lower their weapons. They hadn’t come looking for a fight. Eyeing one another, they grudgingly comply, though their hands stay hovered above their weapons, ready to strike if need be. He quietly exhales the breath he had been holding, worried they wouldn’t do as told. Men during battle or preparing for one hardly listen to reason. 

Looking toward Sansa, who had turned back and was now flanked by her sworn knight and her squire, their swords still held in a defending stance. The scowl on her face doesn’t make him feel better about his next words. “Perhaps we have all acted without consciousness.” 

It’s low and muttered, but ser Davos swears by the Gods he hears Sansa snarkily reply under her breath, _“Most of us..”_ Especially since he notices the twitch in the mouth of the young squire, Podrick, he believes to be his name. Gritting his teeth, Davos inwardly begins to believe that he doesn’t get enough recognition for his duties. 

Sansa tightly clasps her hands in front of her, looking at Davos as she speaks loudly enough for everyone to hear her. “I believe Ser Davos is correct in this matter. We are all acting without accord.” Glancing to Brienne, Sansa barely nods her head, a silent affirmation between the two women. Sheathing her sword, Brienne nods to everyone else to follow suit. “So, before anything else can happen, I would like to restate what it is that will happen from here on out.”

“Ser Davos, your efforts are valiant, yet wasted. My group and I will continue to Dragonstone, with the King’s permission or not. It is a must.” There’s a small glint in her eyes; it looked almost threatening. “However, if it eases the burden from _your_ conscious, you are more than welcome to join us. We could use the extra numbers.”

Ser Davos thinks it over. It was what Jon had requested he do, in case he wasn’t able to persuade the lady Sansa to return home. As much as he had preferred she give up this crusade of hers before it got out of hand, he had a gut feeling on their way to catch up to the vigilante group, that she would never have given up so easily. 

“Or you, and those that choose to follow, can return to Winterfell yourselves, explaining what exactly happened here.” A small smirk plays at the edge of Sansa’s mouth, knowing none of the men would want to return having failed. “I’m sure King Jon would be happy to discuss with each of you how our...meeting went. The decision is up to you.” 

Letting them discuss the terms she laid out in front of them, Sansa leaves, escorted between Brienne and Podrick to their horses. It doesn’t take long for their group’s makeshift tents and shelters to be packed away, the remnants of their camp almost completely gone, save for the indentations in the shallow snow. They had to hurry, already behind because of the unsurprising party that had invaded their camp. 

Rolling their heads back and forth, no one really speaks up, except for the occasional raspy breathing or cough. Each of them had known what the mission was supposed to be: to accompany Sansa and her group before they reached White Harbor. They hadn’t anticipated Davos to order them to all go home, journey stopping there. Nor had had they expected it to almost end with bloodshed, nerves riled up high. They all looked to Ser Davos, who gravelly nodded his head. 

As much as he hated the idea of going back down South, to do a mission only the Gods know the outcome of, with someone who’s family wouldn’t have ever hesitated to burn down their enemies, Ser Davos knew they couldn’t go back to Winterfell. Not without Sansa. He doesn’t even want to try to imagine that outcome of its own. 

Heaving back up onto his horse, the men following without so much as a grunt, they guide the animals, joining the already waiting party. “Very well,” Davos says to Sansa, waiting patiently as she strokes the mane of her own horse. “We have decided it best we join you. As you said before my lady, you need the numbers.”

Grabbing a hold of the reins, Sansa gently jerks her horse, leading it to the pathway to White Harbor. “That’s good to hear, Ser Davos. We really do appreciate your decision to stand on the correct side of this.” 

Setting off again, Davos lags a bit behind Sansa and her two knights. He can’t hear them, but it doesn’t entirely mean they aren’t speaking. He can only guess what they are whispering to each other. They hadn’t expected him to cave into Sansa’s agreement so easily. Nor had they thought he would take the offer without a counter argument. 

He had no choice though. His hands were tied, whatever decision he made. Just like he was afraid would have happened. Like how he knew Sansa would counter his order with one of her own. The men followed without any signs of discord. They would always follow her before they would follow him, if it came down to it. Davos knows this. Because it’s what he would do in their position. 

Trugging along, politely refusing some food offered from one of his men, too disappointed to eat, Davos grips the reins tightly. Eyes on the path, occasionally finding their way back to the red headed wolf, Davos can’t help the feeling that creeps its way into his gut. That maybe they had all chosen the wrong decision. 

**

Trudging through the halls, Jon can barely focus, repetition and familiarity guiding his steps. The disorganized fury replays in his mind, many different voices all demanding more answers, or really better answers, than he had given them. Jon had left the unexpected assembly the second he felt the people believed, even if it wasn’t wholehearted, that Sansa would be able to pull off this mission. 

Barging into his office, Jon is unclipping his cloak, setting it on a nearby hook, when he feels the hairs rise on his neck. He isn’t alone. Swiftly turning, hand on the pommel of longclaw, he finds someone sitting in his chair, facing the window. 

“Who’s there?” He barks out, eyes trained on the figure. He couldn’t make out who it was, not with the soft light coming from the almost burned out lantern. He really needed to refill those more often. Watching as they stood, all the anger Jon was feeling slipped away, his heart filling heavily with a different emotion. 

“Is that really how you choose to greet me, Jon?” Even though her voice was serious, the tears swimming in Arya’s eyes betrayed her. “After all these years?”

Too shocked to answer, Jon strode forward, meeting Arya just halfway, grabbing her and pulling her into his arms. As she hugged him back just as tight, Jon couldn’t believe it. He still didn’t. His youngest sister was back. Here, in person, home. 

Pulling back, Jon cups Arya’s cheek, a watery laugh spilling from his lips as he looks her over. A smile just like his own covers her face. She had grown so much since he last saw her. She wasn’t the little girl with dirt on her cheek from fighting with the boys after she bested them at their own games. Just as he wasn’t the same young man who wished to fit in like the rest of the men. 

“Arya,” Jon chokes out, emotion lodging in his throat, making it hard to speak. “Arya..”

Chuckling, she moved back from his embrace. “That is the name father gave me, yes.” Looking him over, Arya thanks herself inwardly for immediately finding out where to find Jon. Arriving in Winterfell hadn’t been what she expected, but one thing she had known was Jon was the first person she had wanted to see. 

“How are you here?” The last anyone had heard of Arya, had been when their father had first died. She had been lost, believed to be dead. “We thought..” Jon trails off, not really sure how to finish.

“It’s a long story.” The smile she gives him is one filled with sadness. One Jon knows too well. 

Squeezing her one last time, because Jon still doesn’t believe this is real, he finally let’s go, waving his arm. “Then let’s sit.” Moving around, they both take seats facing each other at his desk. Adding more oil to the lamp, the light brightening their faces, Jon smiles are Arya. “I want to hear it. All of it.” 

Mouth curling at the sides, Arya gets comfortable, thinking of where to start. She supposed, from the beginning. 

Which leads to them spending almost the entirety of the night, talking about what had been going since they last saw each other. There are few jokes to be made, laughter filling in the space, and a few sorrowful smiles at everyone they had lost along the way. It’s as if no time had really passed between them, their banter the same, the reused phrases. It felt nice. Almost normal. 

Jon speaks little of his time at the wall, leaving out a few things, things that most would never believe. Just as Arya chooses not to mention her time in Braavos, knowing Jon might not understand what she has done or why. 

“...which led to us winning the battle. We thought we were done for, but in the end, we prevailed.” 

“I wish I could have seen that.” Finally knowing exactly what happened in Winterfell left Arya feeling lighter. “I would have been right there beside you.” 

As one side of his face lifts up, Jon looks down at his hands. As much as he missed her, he’s glad Arya wasn’t there. Not until now. Looking after so many people he loved...he could only do so much by himself. Realizing he was lost in his head, he looks up, confused at what she had just asked. “What?” 

“I see you still get lost in your thoughts every now and then,” Arya chuckled, leaning back, crossing her legs. “I asked, where is Sansa? I didn’t see her at all when I arrived, and I want to now. As much as we annoyed each other as children, she still is my sister. I’ve missed her.”

When Jon hesitates too long, much too long to answer her, the shift in his eyes so minute, anyone who wasn’t paying attention wouldn’t have seen it. But Arya does. She notices everything. Just like she saw Jon’s body tense at the mention of Sansa’s name earlier. She had ignored it, convincing herself it was the recollection of the story that made him do it. But now, she knew it wasn’t. 

Sitting forward, Arya uncrosses her legs, planting her feet firmly on the ground, hands gripping the arms of her chair tightly. “Jon, what is it, what are you not telling me?” 

As Jon leans back, he lets out a deep sigh, knowing he can’t keep it from her anymore, that Arya wouldn’t budge until he told her. The look on his face must mean something, because Arya slowly straightens up, clutching onto the chair even tighter. Her face transforms from the little sister he knew, to someone he doesn’t even recognize. 

“I won’t ask again.” Arya says, the mask coming up. “Where is she?”

**********

Lifting one of her hands, the wind whipping it back as they soar through the air, Dany tries to enjoy the feeling of the moment. The way the winds whirled around her, furiously untangling the loose strands from her kept braids, making her appear wild. It made her feel young. Carefree. Happy. Dany lowered her hand, gripping onto Drogon again as he veered upward, higher and higher. 

It was rare for her to feel truly happy anymore. Sure, she had her advisors and those she even considered friends, but it wasn’t enough. She still felt alone and as if no one really understood her. All these people and she felt unseen and heard, even when she was the center of their attention. 

Her children though. Being with them, made her feel more than she could hope for. The connection she felt to them was incredible. More than she would care to admit, nor would she out loud, but her bond with Drogon was the strongest. Every move and breath they took, felt like one. He came when she was pent up with frustration at not getting anywhere with her advisors on how to move forward in reclaiming Westeros, calling out and then waiting for her just outside her war room. It was as if he knew how to read Dany’s mind, giving her exactly what she needed. 

Just as he had today. They were getting nowhere with the waiting on which move they could make next. The Greyjoy’s hadn’t sent any ravens either, to inform her of their travels nor had the Sand Snakes given her any clue as to how they plan to move forward. To top it off, it had been weeks since she had sent a raven to the North, to Jon Snow. Now as a full moon had passed, and still, there was no response or even any information as to whether a group had been spotted traveling down to meet. 

Dany grunts, pulling forward as Drogon spins over, wings bent as he does another flip. A pleased smile graces her features, knowing her child was magnificent in everything he did, even when he showed off to her. 

A mild roar sounds to her left, from below. Peering down to the side, Dany watches as her other two children swoop their way up, gliding next to their sibling. Their family was whole again, as they should be, depending on only each other. As far as Dany could tell, this was the only way it could be. 

Flying around for a bit longer, despite how much she wished they could stay up there, they had to land soon. Besides, even from up here, Dany could see someone climbing the stairs up to where they were headed to land. Soaring further down, she realized It was Tyrion. Perhaps he finally had some good news to share with her. 

Circling the air, Drogon slowly makes his descent until he lands on the cliff, the soft grass crushed by the dragon’s enormous weight. 

“My Queen.” Tyrion greets Dany, who is climbing her way down. “Enjoy your daily soar through the sky? It’s become something of a ritual for you.”

Coaxing her hand along his rough scales, Dany paid more attention to her child, who was enjoying the affection she was giving, than she did her Hand. “I did.” 

Dropping her hand from him, Drogon stared into her eyes, looking behind Dany for a brief moment, before taking back off into the sky. When Dany turned to acknowledge Tyrion, she found him still staring after her dragons. There was awe in his eyes still. But there was also fear. As there should be. 

“Any new updates you would like to discuss with me?” Tyrion’s eyes snapped back to Dany. The furrow in his brows quickly began to darken her mood. “That is why you came down here, correct?” 

Daenerys started walking, not giving Tyrion a chance to recover. If he really wanted to discuss anything, he could do it on their way back to her throne room.

“It is, technically..” Catching up to her, Tyrion fell into step beside Dany. “Why I came down.” Noticing that she was still waiting for the reason, he carried on. “As your Hand, I thought of how ill-fit it would be not to discuss our—” Tyrion doesn’t fail to notice the side glance Daenerys gives him at the word. “—your strategies you use to take your rightful legacy. I’ve seen your frustrations during our meetings and I am not the only one.” 

“Have you now?” Whether he had caught the annoyance or just decided to ignore it, Dany didn’t care enough to know. This wasn’t the kind of discussion she had hoped for, nor one she even wanted to have. Of course she was frustrated. Tyrion might be also, if he had the mind to think of how with each day that passed on and Daenerys wasn’t sitting on the iron throne, how it made her appear to those looking up to her. Weak. Less than a Queen. 

“Yes, I have. Now, I know repeating battle plans and changing them to adjust to new information we have coming in from our spies is tiring.” Scratching along the hair of his beard, Tyrion attempts a small smile, one that shows understanding. Even though it only makes Daenerys angrier than his words do. 

“I don’t need you telling me how tiring you know going over battle plans is.” She snapped, minding her feet as they walked up the many stairs. “I know because I sit through them just like you do.” 

Smile faltering, Tyrion clears his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to sound as if you didn’t know.” Casting his eyes away from Daenerys, the sting of her anger doesn’t hurt as bad when he pretends it isn’t for him. He knows better by now. “All I’m saying is while it’s frustrating now, it will pay off later. Try not to let your anger get the best of you in times like this when it doesn’t seem like anything is moving forward.” 

Coming to a turn in the stairs, Dany stops, slowly turning to look at Tyrion now. Her expression is blank, as it usually is when she is trying to calm the fire raging inside her. He stops too, wary of what she has on her mind. 

“Try not to let my anger get the best of me?” She repeats, cocking her head to the side. “In what ways do you believe I am letting it get the best of me, _Lord_ Tyrion?” He knows the question isn’t rhetorical. Daenerys doesn’t really want an answer. So he stays quiet. “Is it the way I constantly question your reasoning behind altering my plans? Stating you know best because you have survived _one_ battle?” 

“Is it the way I leave, for long periods of time, to fly with my children? The very children who wouldn’t hesitate to give me everything I wanted if I dare so commanded it?” Her eyes blaze in the sunlight, changing in reflection with each movement. Tyrion doesn’t know the perfect words to describe them other than they look like dancing flames, waiting to lose control and destroy everything in their path. “Or is it the way you promised the love of the people when they realize I, Danaerys Targaryen, the last born dragon, have returned to Westeros? And yet here I stand, with no welcoming other than an abandoned castle whose walls bring me no joy.” 

Noticeably swallowing, Tyrion dares only blink once. He doesn’t know what to say. He had promised her those things, and to her, while he may have survived only one battle, he spent years learning from one of the best strategists he ever knew: his father. Surely it rubbed off on him over that time. As for her children...Tyrion doesn’t doubt for a second that they wouldn’t burn all of Westeros if Dany told them to. 

But that’s not why they were here. They weren’t here to leave destruction and ruin in their wake. They were here to liberate everyone from the clutches of his wretched sister. To give Daenerys her rightful place on the throne, as it should be. 

“You’re right.” Daenerys’ eyes widen so minutely, Tyrion thinks he imagined it. She hadn’t expected him to agree with her so quickly. “I did promise you those things, and I have not delivered. While I may not be the most seasoned in battle, you are. I offer my advice because I know you will question every outcome that could happen.” 

Her silence assured Tyrion that he could continue. 

“As for your children,” It doesn’t slip by Tyrion that mentioning them makes Dany tense, “while it may seem easier to use them to capture the kingdoms, it would be pointless if there are no people left to lead, all of them burned to rubble and ash from the fires they will leave in their trails.”

Inhaling, Dany makes to throw something back at her Hand, but the words die in her throat. He was right. As much as she loved her children, they likely wouldn’t stop burning down Westeros once they started. 

Tyrion closes his eyes, inhaling, then exhaling before looking back at her. “I never said this would be easy. I told you, it would take time. Do you still believe you made the right choice in making me your Hand?”

Thinking for a moment, Dany nods her head. She may not always agree with Tyrion, but she has yet to go back on her decision in giving him his position. Yet.

“Then believe that this will happen. You, my Queen, will sit on the iron throne. But you must have patience.” Finishing off, Tyrion waits for another outburst but it doesn’t come. Instead, all he gets is another nod, before the Queen bids him a good afternoon, ending the conversation there. 

As Daenerys walks away, Tyrion looks back up to the sky. The eyes he had felt on them earlier, were boring into his own right then. Hungry, ferocious, unforgiving eyes. Facing both Rhaegal and Viserion before, Tyrion knew they would likely not hurt him unless ordered to, which he silently hopes never comes.

But looking at Drogon, Tyrion knows fully, that if the dragon really wanted to, it would burn him where he stood. Provoked or not. Her favorite child, obvious to the onlooker, was also Daenerys’ most uncontrollable one. The one that flew wildly, unrestrained and yet eager to do his mother's bidding at any moment’s notice.

Tyrion gives in first, ripping his eyes away from the creature. Man was never meant to look upon beasts and lay claim to them. Yet, the Mother of Dragons did just that. The thought that crosses his mind, makes him feel more vulnerable, out in the open with them looking down at him.

Quickly making the remaining trip up the stairs back to the castle, Tyrion can only imagine that perhaps the three believed to have been extinct creatures saw Daenerys as their real mother, not because she raised them, but because they saw more of a dragon in her than anything. Maybe even themselves. 

The thought sends a chill down his spine, despite the warmth of the sun beating down on him. He doesn’t bother her for the rest of the evening. 

  
  


**********

The time spent traveling was very quiet. Not even the men reunited were talking. Everyone had a vendetta against one another for choosing sides after what happened. While the men from Sansa’s original party were doing their best to make nice, it was difficult. The newcomers were not happy with any of them. And who could blame them? After all, they did intentionally disobey direct orders from the king that no one was to leave to Dragonstone, it was too dangerous. Yet here they were, all of them now sharing the consequences. 

Minutely shaking her head, Sansa is lost in thoughts when a soft voice interrupts them. 

“Not so easy anymore, is it?” Ser Davos had slowly made his way to the front of the marching group. He was just beside Sansa, on her right. “If you wanted, we could still turn around, head back, forget this happened?”

Ignoring his questions, Sansa keeps her eyes straight. He was baiting her, trying to make her admit that she was in over her head about this entire decision. Well she wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to guilt her into believing she is. Not when too much is on the line now. 

Brienne looks over, from Sansa’s left, to the older man. Meeting his eyes, they share a passing look, averting their gazes just as quickly. It seemed they both shared similar feelings when it came to this. 

**********

“How could you just let her leave?!” Arya couldn’t believe her ears. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. 

“Let her?” Jon laughed, the bitter sound made him sound unlike himself. At least not how he used to be. “I didn’t even know about this insane mission of hers until after they had been gone the night and most of the day.” Grasping into his hair, he tugged it hard. “She isn’t the same Sansa you remember from when we were children, Arya. She is different. We all are.” 

The way he said it, the words sounded almost broken. Like he can’t believe it anymore than she could. Running her hands down her sleeves and tunic, Arya looks down, trying to think. 

“You said that you sent your most trusted advisor, Ser..Dave?” She couldn’t care to remember his name right now. It was never her best subject during her lessons anyway. “That he is going after her?” 

“Yes, I sent Ser Davos and some good men as soon as I found out.” Jon sits back down, his whole body aching from the day, catching up to him right now, of all moments. Bent over, he rubs at his eyes. Discussing this again, it felt like someone was inside his head, beating a drum as loudly as they could. “If there weren’t any delays, then he should have caught up to her by now.”

Folding her arms, Arya chooses to lean against the wall to steady herself. She couldn’t bring herself to sit back down, not after this. It was so much to process. 

“Well then,” she starts, “maybe this advisor of yours can bring her back before she reaches White Harbor.”

Another bitter chuckle empties into the quiet room as Jon lifts his head to meet her eyes. “He won’t.” He sits up, arms still hanging over his knees. “Not because he won’t try,” Arya bites down the remark she had been about to say. “Ser Davos won’t bring Sansa back, because she won’t want to come back. You haven’t seen her in, how long? Since King’s Landing?” 

Arya grimly nods her head, silently begging they skip over that part of her life. She wished she had never gone there. That none of them had. 

Jon doesn’t dwell when he sees the pain Arya desperately tries to hide. He moves on. “Well, like I said before, she is different now.” 

Hanging his head again, Jon hopes Arya will leave it at that. When she doesn’t say anything, he glances up, to find her gone. She had been so quiet. Either that, or he was too strung up again to notice. Leaning down, Jon rests his head on his desk, too exhausted and drained to care if he would wake up sore in the morning. 

Closing his eyes, he can’t help a soft exhale escape. It seemed the happy reunion was over. 

**********

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! We hope everyone enjoys! 
> 
> -Vela

“...I don’t know where we are.” All the white snow that had taken over the ground and trees, made it harder to tell where they were. “I’m sorry.”

“Ten miles South down the road, and there will be a tree torn from its root, laying in the way.” Bran answered. “From there, venturing to the left of it, there will be an abandoned house. We can rest there for the night. We will reach Winterfell by tomorrow, midday.” 

Meera looked down where Bran had said to go, but she still didn’t know if it was even true. Navigating North had seemed so easy, but going back...it didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right..

“How do you know?” Meera asked Bran. Looking behind her, she watched as his eyes stared into the distance, before he shut them closed. If she looked close enough, she could almost see them moving back and forth. 

Turning back in front of her, Meera shivered from the action. Countless times she had watched Bran warg into an animal nearby, helping guide her if she needed it or just to get away for a bit, to learn and remember, at least that’s what he told her when she bothered asking. If he even answered that is. 

She didn’t ask him many questions, only when it was needed, or the eerie silence, just the sound of her feet crunching the snow, was too much for her. There wasn’t this much silence when there were others with them…others. Jojen.

Starting this damned journey, Meera was hesitant to even go, let alone let her brother leave on his own. But when he had taken off by himself, she had no choice.  _ Take care of your brother Meera, he is too bold for his own good.  _ Her father’s words echo in her head, before Jojen had even gone. It was as if their father knew what was going to happen. 

Stopping her slow trudges in the middle of the way, Meera stares down at the ground, the jumbled mess occupying her head making it difficult to do anything but walk. If that. Shutting her eyes closed, Meera bit the inside of her cheek, stifling the whimper trying to escape her throat. 

She had promised to be a guide. She couldn’t do that. She had promised to be a protector, and she failed. What good could she do, if who she was doing it for, wasn’t even here to bicker and pester her about being born for something this great. 

“...it will be down there.” The sound of a monotone voice muddles it’s way through the fog in Meera’s head. It was too dense to even hear entirely what had been said. 

“Wha’?” Meera looked back again, eyes meeting hollow, dull ones. It was like the Stark boy wasn’t even himself. Not anymore. 

“The house. Over the mound, past the tree. It will be down there.” Bran repeated, with no interest whatsoever. He continued starting straight ahead, unfocused on anything in particular. 

Nodding her head, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer to how he knew this anyway, Meera began making her way down where Bran had told her to go. As the quiet trickled in again, other than the crunch of snow and the occasional rustle of a nearby animal, Meera was able to ignore most of it. 

Thought after thought she had of Jojen and their time wasted going to find Bran and lead him to the three eyed raven. Meera grit her teeth at each painful memory, gripping the handles of the wagon tighter. Instead of going back home, reassured and less stressed, she would have to go and tell her father of how his only son had died. And all for what? Visions? Her inability to keep a damn promise?

Even though she hadn’t been able to do more than she wanted, Meera knew one promise she was going to do her damnedest to keep. Get Brandon Stark home. 

**********

Waiting silently as the ship was loaded with the remaining bulk of their supplies, Sansa stood near the docks. Earlier, Brienne had sent Podrick and a few men to get anything they might need before setting off, so they should be back soon. It was almost time to board and set sail.

The soft crunch of footsteps on the snow made her turn to look over her shoulder. She waited until Ser Davos was next to her. “Is everything in order then?”

He nodded his head, looking around. “It is. The raven should arrive at Winterfell soon.” 

They stand there quietly, waiting to be told when the ship is finally ready. As they do, Sansa doesn’t fail to notice that Davos is watching her just as much as he watches the men ready for their voyage. She lets him. She knows what he is going to do before he does. 

“Dare I bother trying again?” The question finally came after minutes of silence. “Or will I get the same response?” 

Sansa doesn’t acknowledge the question, because he is right. Asking it will only get him the same answer and neither of them want to have the same argument again. 

Holding her hands in front her, Sansa begins walking the board leading to the ship. She doesn’t wait to see if the other man follows her. 

“It seems that the ship is ready, Ser Davos.” Brienne is waiting for her at the dock, hands firmly gripping the belt holding her sword, warily eyeing the mass boat . “We should board. I doubt either one of us would want to get left behind.” 

Everyone boards the ship, ready as ever. Getting comfortable where they can, they all know it’s going to be a long journey. 

Walking to the edge of the boat, Sansa grips onto the side, taking in the last bit of North as the boat leaves the docks of White Harbor. It was done. There was no going back after this. Now the only thing they all had left to look toward were the sandy beaches of the South. 

A sorrowful feeling enveloped her, wringing around her heart. Sansa never thought she would leave the North again. But then, that was before she had more than just her home to think about. 

**********

Perched on top of the railings, in a secluded spot where he could see most of the court, Lord Baelish watched as the people below went about their daily routine. If he had to be completely honest, it was quite boring. The same thing, over and over. Nothing exciting or interesting occurred, other than the return of the younger Stark sister. He hadn’t had a chance yet to speak with Arya, her presumably either with her brother or training with the others. 

Baelish found it odd how much time the girl spent wielding a sword or other weapons. Always practicing. Rarely taking a break unless it was to eat. She reminded him of the woman in armor that stayed by the lovely Sansa. Exhaling a soft snort, it caught in his throat, sore and raw still from his encounter with Jon. Absently rubbing the skin under his collar, large bruises in the shape of a handprint on it, Littlefinger stayed focused on the training occurring right at that moment. Watched as one of the younger men went to talk to the Stark girl, presumably asking her some ridiculous question. 

To his surprise, she nodded her head, turning fully toward the younger man, raising her sword. That was a first. From the few times he has seen, Arya Stark rarely trained with anyone, always refusing. She actually didn’t speak that much to anyone in Winterfell, save for her brother and Yohn Royce or the occasional passerby. In many ways, she was unlike her sister. While Sansa spoke elegantly and with ease amongst her people, to Baelish, Arya seemed cold and distant. He would have to work on that.

He continues watching them spar, the young man obviously trying to go easy on Arya, until he ends up with him fallen to the ground, the steel blade inches from his face. Chuckling at the scene, Baelish watches them go again, this time not holding back from either of them. Yet, the boy still ends up drawn before he has a chance to get the advantage. Littlefinger smiles a bit, suddenly impressed. He might have underestimated Arya, as did her opponent. Whoever taught the young girl, obviously knew what they were doing. 

As both Arya and the young man get into their stances again, shouting from the main doors get their attention. As well as Littlefinger’s. Turning to them, everyone stills, waiting to see what the fuss is about. A small crowd had gathered already, and Arya quickly ventured over when someone shouted out, “Get the King!” and “Lady Arya, quickly!” 

Interest piqued, Lord Baelish moves along the railing to the edge of a bannister, craning his neck despite the pain, to get a better view. Wondering what has everyone in such high spirits, when he sees them. In the midst of the small group, is a girl, with wild hair and clothes matted with mud and dirt. She doesn’t look familiar to him. Next to her though, half laying, half sitting in a wagon...it couldn’t be. Baelish squints his eyes, tipping his head to the side, as he takes in Brandon Stark, second eldest son to Ned and Catelyn.

Reeling back, Baelish can’t believe it. He had heard of the rumors that Brandon Stark was dead. Lost and never to be found. He had believed Ned Stark’s last true son, Rickon, was the last true heir to Winterfell, and he had been killed at the start of the Battle of the Bastards. Yet, here in the flesh, was Bran breathing just before him. 

Seeing motion in the side of his eye, Littlefinger quickly steps back into the shadows of his small corner, watching as Jon rushes down to meet his lost brother. Standing there, eyes gleaming as they take in the new information. 

Jon stops just before Bran, who has his eyes set on Arya, already leaning back from their embrace. When she steps back, discreetly wiping her face, Bran then turns to Jon. 

Littlefinger hardly notices the younger boy say something, before his entire being is covered entirely, head barely visible above the fur of his brother’s cloak. What he does catch though, is that during both embraces from his siblings, Bran never once reaches up to hold onto either of them as they do him. 

It’s a strange interaction. After all these years, and yet the boy doesn’t hug them. From where he is standing, Littlefinger almost thinks he has it wrong, that it isn’t their brother after all. 

Beyond the small crowd of smiling people, a lone figure begins to back away from it all. The girl who came in with Bran, looks around the mass of people around her, slowly turning away. As she does, she hesitates, her eyes finding Lord Baelish up in the rafts, watching everything. For a second, their eyes meet, and she feels exposed. Like a deer, being watched like prey. The way he slowly smiles and gives a little wave of his hand to her, makes her take another step back, turning away for real this time, towards the gates she entered in from. 

“Wait.” The crowded murmurs and whispers die down, making Jon’s voice echo in the quiet courtyard. “What’s your name?” 

The girl turns back, wary of all the eyes on her now. “Meera.” She says. “Meera Reed, daughter of Howland Reed.” 

“Lady Reed,” Jon starts, stepping towards her. “We want to thank you for bringing our brother home.” Meera glances between the man in front of her and the girl still next to Bran, his sister no doubt, who gives her a head nod and small smile. 

“I was keeping a promise.” Looking around, Meera starts to turn away again. “But now, I have to return home. My father needs me.”

Jon reaches out, stopping when he sees the cautious way Meera holds herself. “Stay.” He says. “For the night at least. It’ll be dark soon. And colder.”

Littlefinger’s ears perk up at the question. Inviting the stranger who spent time with the last true heir to Winterfell. All the secrets she could tell him. If he had a chance to speak with her. Coax them out. 

When the young woman, Meera, doesn't say anything, just looks around unsure, Arya speaks up. 

“We insist.” Glancing at Bran, then back to Meera, she adds, “It’s the least we could do for the woman who gave us back our brother.” 

Looking down at her hands, Meera rubs her fingers across each other, feeling the ache from the cold. She was exhausted, and hungry, and yearned for a place to sleep. She wouldn’t be able to get back home just yet. What was another night? At least here, she might be safe for the time being. 

Nodding her head, Meera let’s the Starks lead her into the castle, a few men from the crowd helping Bran in. 

Sauntering across the ramps, ignoring the continuing tasks of daily routines of the people left in the courtyard, Littlefinger tucks his hands together in his sleeves. It appeared the young woman, Meera, would be staying a bit longer. Excellent. It would give him time to find a way to speak with her. 

Taking the steps down, Baelish can’t help the smirk that creeps onto his face. Walking past others, who do their best not to interact with the man, Littlefinger can’t ignore the thoughts soaring through his mind. He had been looking for interesting things to occur. And it had. There were now two new game pieces on the board for him to play with. 

*********

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! We want apologize for the delay in posting but everything has been so hectic lately with work and other stuff. But we hope you enjoy this new chapter ! ❤️
> 
> P.s we were able to finish and post on my birthday! I was so excited and a way to celebrate is sharing this with everyone ❤️ 
> 
> Lots of love, Vela ❤️

They sit there in silence, the only sound of their breathing, and the distant echo of the people in the courtyard. Bran coming back home was going to change things. A lot of things. 

“You know,” Jon started, focusing on his hands and the way the cold made his nails turn a dark violet color, “you being home means that you are Lord of Winterfell now.” Bran just looks at him, not saying anything. He was so quiet now, not at all the talker as he was when he was younger. “You are father’s last true heir...that is.”

“I can’t. Not anymore.” Bran replies. “I am no longer Brandon Stark. I am the three eyed raven.” 

“I don’t understand.” Jon’s head was crooked sideways, his brows furrowed. 

“It’s complicated.” Bran said, leaning up against the Weirwood tree. He looked...placid. 

“Well try to explain.” Scooting barely closer, Jon folds his hands over his knees. “Please, Bran.” The name goes straight through the younger boy’s heart, sparking a small tinge of something he had forgotten was there. “I want to know everything. If you’ll let me…”

His dark brown eyes stare into Jon’s, drawing out different scenes, no, memories in his mind’s eye. All the times that Jon would help him train, play with him despite their difference in age, and show him a brother’s love. The last thing he sees is the day Jon left. Bran wasn’t awake, but that didn’t matter now. He knew Jon had refused to leave for the wall without saying goodbye, taking on his mother’s fury one last time. 

Those same eyes now boring back into him. Maybe remembering the same exact thing he was seeing. Their last time together. “Alright.” Sighing, Jon shuffles around a bit, then waits patiently. “After leaving Winterfell, and parting ways with my brother, Rickon, we travelled far North, way beyond the wall. It was at our destination that I Ieft Bran behind. At that same moment, I became the Three Eyed Raven.”

“Being him, the three eyed raven, has shown me many things. Things none of us would have known,” The face of a just born babe flashes where Jon is sitting, then back again. “Important things we all should have known.”

“Like what?” Jon’s brows couldn’t furrow any deeper if he tried, yet they did. 

“Knowledge of the past.” Bran doesn’t say anymore than that. 

“How can you know things of the past, if you weren’t there?” 

An almost smile shadows across Bran’s face. “Because the three eyed raven showed me. He said I had to learn the past in order to understand the future.” 

Jon looks down at the snow crushed under his boots. Waving his arm, he tuts, “I thought you were the three eyed raven.” 

“I am.” Breathing deep, Bran looks off to the side, away from Jon. “I told you, it’s too difficult to understand.” 

“Mm” Jon mutters. Running a hand over his face, he decides to just let the subject go. If Bran wanted to talk to him about it, he could, but right now they were just going in circles. The talk of past and present, future and everything all together was making his head hurt. 

“I’m sorry Jon.” The sound of Bran’s voice breaks his thoughts. “That my brother died, leaving you to take up the mantle. Maybe if we had done things differently, no one would be gone.” 

“It’s not your fault Bran, it’s mine.” Jon tells him. “Neither one of us could have saved our brothers, either of them, with or without an army.” As the painful replay of what happened that day fills Jon’s head, he doesn’t catch the way Bran tilts his head to the side, barely squinting his eyes at him when he says “their brothers”.

“I’m glad you’re home though.” No facade can hide the sorrow embedded in those words. Not when Bran can see everything behind them. “Here, Bran, Winterfell is where you belong.” 

“It is the right place to be..” Deciding to leave the unspoken truths for another time, Bran offers Jon something more important for the moment. “If we want to stop the long night from coming, and the Night King from getting what he wants.”

Jon jerks his head up. “You know about the Night King?” 

“I do.” Bran reaches down, pushing up the sleeve to show Jon his wrist, turning it slightly so he can see the burned blue flesh the King had left behind. “He knows who I am also. And how to find me.” 

Lost for words, it takes Jon a moment to register what his brother just said. “Find you? What does he want with you? How did you get these marks?” 

Too many questions, too long of an explanation. “The Night King wants to do what he has been trying to do since the first men were here. Rid the lands of its stories, it’s memories. Of everything.” Letting go of his sleeve, Bran leans his head back against the tree. “I am the way to do it. By marking me, he will always know where I am. Just as I will always know where he is.” 

“Because you’re the three eyed raven?” As Bran nods his head, Jon can’t help clenching his fists into his knees, pushing into the fabric of his pants, digging into the skin with his knuckles. He may not fully know the extent of what Bran is saying, but he knows one thing for certain. He isn’t losing another person he cares about. “He won’t get to you. Not if I can stop him in time.” Jon promises. 

Looking up into the sky, Bran watched the flurries of snow dance with each other, around and around, until they finally fell to the ground. “I always loved the snow.” He says, eyes following the flakes, like he can see each of them individually. “It was snowing that night too...wasn’t it?” 

Moving his head, Jon can’t think of what night Bran is talking about. It was summer when they had last been together. Or how it’s even important to bring it right now, with what he had just said. 

“You were so full of hope. One of the youngest commander voted before.” Eyes falling back onto Jon, he barely makes a face when he says, “I’m sorry being a part of the Night’s Watch didn’t go the way you expected it to. You were a good man Jon. You didn’t deserve the betrayal of your men, or to be left in the cold like that, waiting, bleeding as the snow fell on you, sticking to your skin.” 

Sitting up straight, Jon blankly looks at his brother, wondering if he is joking. But the way he says it, never wavering, never leaving out the small detail that no one other than the few people he absolutely trusted knew about. It’s impossible but those words leave him to believe that Bran knows the truth. Knows what happened to him. 

The thought doesn’t bring him peace. It fills Jon with dread, and guilt and...fear. The feeling of all the emptiness before he felt nothing crawl over him, reaching in him to bury its talons inside him once more, and keep them there. 

Shivers running across his skin, beads of sweat sheen over, making his skin clammy. Without a second thought, Jon’s fist curls into his chest, involuntarily rubbing at the scars on them. He stops when Bran’s eyes shift down, following the movement of his hand. 

“How did..” Gulping down the nausea trying to force its way up his throat, Jon asks again. “How do you know about...that night?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own to his ears. 

Looking away, into the distant forest, Bran only replies, “I see everything, for I am the three eyed raven.” 

Standing abruptly, Jon bounces on his feet. “I have to go. There is a meeting soon.” Turning halfway, he forces himself to stop. “Do you want to go inside Bran?” 

“No. I think I will stay out here a while longer.” Absently digging his fingers into the soft snow, Bran pays no mind to the change in mood from Jon. “There is a lot I need to catch up on.” 

Nodding, Jon barely waits for his brother to finish before taking off. He loved Bran so much, but right now, Jon had never felt a bigger urge to get as far from him as he did then.

**

“You can stay here tonight.” Arya stops in front of the door to the room she had escorted Meera to. “I’ll let one of the maidens know to bring you water for bathing and fresh clothing. I’m sure you want to have yours cleaned.” 

Looking to the large door, Meera opens it, revealing a comfortable room. There was a fireplace, unlit, in the center she was dying to get started so the flames could burn away the deep chill still settled in her bones. The bed looked absolutely amazing compared to the abandoned homes or makeshift shelters she had built while they travelled, the cold still finding its way to keep them from sleeping at all. 

“Thank you, my lady.” Meera looked behind her to find Arya watching her. Of the two siblings, she found Arya more...comforting. She even saw a bit of herself in the younger girl. “It will be nice to get some rest after our long journey.” 

Arya tipped her head, offering a small smile. “Of course, anything for the woman who brought my brother back to me.” Giving a small nod, Arya waited.

As Meera walked into the chambers, she was closing the door when Arya’s voice stopped her. 

“Who is it?” Her head was tilted to the side slightly, the smile gone, and her brows were furrowed. 

“Who is who?” Meera asked, confused at the random question. 

“The person you’re grieving.” Taken back, Meera doesn’t know how to respond. She opened her mouth but nothing came out, the words stopping midway in her throat. “I normally wouldn’t pry,” Arya said, the smile returning, though it was milder, sad even, “but you just look a bit lost and distracted.” 

Swallowing the lump, Meera looks down before answering. “My brother. Jojen.” Glancing back up, she notices the way Arya’s eyes change. She finds only understanding in the girl’s gaze. “We were almost..where we needed to be, when..” Meera decided to choose her words carefully, not knowing whether she would be believed if she spoke the whole truth. “We were attacked, and Jojen was killed. I...I couldn’t save him.”

It’s the first time Meera had said the words out loud to anyone and they still rip and tear at her very being, filling her with pain unimaginable and leaving her just as numb. She didn’t think she would be able to even utter those words to anyone but her father, yet here she was letting them spill out to someone she didn’t even know. Perhaps that’s what had made it easier. Arya didn’t know Jojen. 

Arya doesn’t speak for a moment, letting the air around them tense and fill with the sorrow they both held onto too well. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, the ache of knowing that same exact loss moving her in a way she didn’t like to feel, “I hate to say that I know how you feel, having lost my brothers too.” 

Meera stands there, numb and internally begging to be left for the night. She was exhausted and bringing up her dead brother wasn’t helping. But she can’t bring herself to be rude. Not now anyway. She doesn’t have the strength to. “Thank you.” Gripping the side of the door harder, she can’t help adding, “I promised.” 

“Promised what?” 

“To bring him home. Bran.” Meera quietly says. “If it was very well the last thing I would do, it was to get someone else’s brother back home to them. Where they belonged.”

Arya stares Meera in her eyes, never wavering for a second. When she blinks, she clasps her hands behind her back, casting her eyes over Meera’s shoulder, unable to meet her gaze anymore. 

“I’ll have someone bring you supper later on.” Turning on her heel, Arya begins to walk away, before stopping mid stride, and looking back over her shoulder. “I know it might not mean anything, and it won’t bring your brother back, but whatever you need, both you and your family when you get back to them, it’s yours. I’ll make sure of it.” 

With that, Arya finally departs, leaving Meera standing in the doorway, unable to look away from the empty hall. After what feels like an eternity, when her legs begin to ache from being in one place, unwilling to carry her weight any longer , Meera finally shuts the door. 

Slumping against the thick wood, she looks across the room to the fireplace. Scuttling over, she finds the flint and after a few strikes, lights a fire. Getting up, she makes her way to the bed, already feeling the warmth from the flames carrying over the room. It’s nice. 

Throwing herself into the soft furs, Meera feels the weight of everything she endured begin to melt away as the weariness of bearing it all comes down on her. Her entire body aches and she feels as if she could sleep forever. Letting her eyes slip closed, Meera begins to drift, not caring that she still has her boots and most of her outer wear on. She would worry about it later. 

Curling over onto her side, Meera is drifting in and out of sleep, when a soft but steady knocking jolts her awake. Though she highly doubts it would be the Stark girl again, Meera wouldn’t put it past Arya to come back and converse with her in a more awkward and painful discussion. Unless it was the maiden that was supposed to bring her water to bathe and the change of clothes. 

Crawling out from the comfort of the covers, Meera struts to the door, practically yanking it open. Instead of a maiden waiting behind it though, she finds a man, with beady eyes looking back at her. In the back of her head, still fuzzy from the lost sleep she was aching for, Meera feels a sense of recognition. She has seen this man before. 

Gesturing out the tray he was holding, the man barely lifts it as he says, “Your dinner, my Lady.” 

**********

The rock of the ship was slow and tempo most of the journey so far. But when they would reach choppy waves, rough enough to overturn any ship they wanted, those were the kind of waves that Sansa loved. Even before, on the last ship she had been, the roughest waves, the uncontrolled yet steady way they would tip the ship, teetering it over the edge, it was something mesmerizing. Because after the waves settled, and everything was calm, the water looked absolutely enthralling.

Just like it was now. Everything quiet and slow, the sound of the waves sending off a calm feeling over the ship. Sitting on one the crates on the deck, Sansa thinks it’s the perfect time for a talk as well. 

“Brienne?” Looking around, she finds her knight leaning over the edge of the railings, her hand gripping on almost for dear life. 

A twinge of sympathy tugs at Sansa as her brows gather. Most of the crew had taken to being ill as they had set sail, not truly enjoying the way the ship rocked as she did. It seemed Brienne was amongst the lot who were bearing the brunt of it. 

Standing on bent knees as still as she could, tipping sideways every now and then with the boat, Brienne stood straight, running a hand over her face. Gathering her wits, she slowly turned to Sansa, a questioning look on her face. 

“Could you find Ser Davos and relay that I would like to speak with him?” Nodding, Brienne turned and steadily made her way to the stairs leading below deck. After a while, Sansa turned around to the sound of steps as both Ser Davos and Brienne returned. 

“You requested my presence, Lady Sansa?” The older man asked, eyeing her, towards Brienne, then to Sansa, and back again to Brienne. He looked worried. And he rightly should be, seeing as Sansa’s sworn knight was paler than before, sweat beading at her forehead. She looked just seconds from being sick right there. 

“Yes, I was hoping you could join me. It has been a few days since we have had a chance to speak without interruptions.” Sansa looks at Brienne. “Brienne, go ahead and turn in early for the night. Get some rest. I’ll be fine with Ser Davos here with me.” 

Expecting the woman to protest, Sansa is almost surprised when she simply nods, relief immediately on her face, and departs them both, heading below deck to her room. It seemed she was feeling worse than she was really letting off. 

“The poor woman,” Davos grunts, “her and almost half the men are all practically sick as dogs. Most just laying in their cots, too unwell to even get up.” 

“I’ve noticed.” Sansa replies. “It seems that the sway of the ship doesn’t sit well with most of them.” 

Shrugging, Davos takes a seat on a nearby crate, close to Sansa. “It took me quite a while to get used to it as well when I sailed on my first ship. The feeling will hopefully go away soon.” 

“Right, of course.” Sansa muses. She remembers Jon had mentioned a time or two of Davos' past life. “It hopefully will though, with time.” 

“You seem to be holding up better than others, it seems. You’ve sailed before?” 

Looking away to the ocean view, Sansa gets a wistful look on her face. “Once.” Glancing back towards the onion knight, the side of Sansa’s face turns up. “When I finally escaped the South and the terrors of King’s Landing.” 

Humming a response, the older man looks out to the ocean. The waves were hardly moving at all and you could see most of the stars in the sky now. “One thing I will say about sailing, is you never get tired of the view when it has calmed.” 

Sansa softly smiles, glad she wasn’t the only one who appreciated how beautiful the view was. 

After a moment of silence, Davos finally breaks it. “I don’t think the view of the sea nor the wellness of the crew is the reason for calling me here tonight, is it?” 

“You were always one to get straight to the point Ser Davos.” Sansa chuckles. “I don’t think I have ever mentioned that’s one thing I like most about you.” 

The man simply shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve lived through enough to know there isn’t always enough time to dwell on anything besides getting to the point of a discussion.” 

Observing him quietly, hands folded neatly in her lap, Sansa couldn’t help agreeing with him. Sometimes ignoring and playing around something took more time than actually saying what needed to be said. “I need to know you are with me.” She says, their playful banter gone from the air. “From here on out, no matter what, that you will stand behind me wholly and without a doubt. I cannot have you undermining my decisions when we get to Dragonstone.” 

Ser Davos crosses his arms, straightening his back against the crate. “You do.” Huffing out a sigh, his face falls into a frown. “Lady Sansa, when I agreed to continue on your journey with you, I also agreed to stand by you, to back each of your decisions, and ensure you my full support.” 

Sansa nods her head, some tension leaving her knowing that’s one thing she wouldn’t have to worry about. 

“But,” He continues, “this means I also agreed to point out any decision that could not only endanger us, but the well being of everyone here and in the North.” Closing his eyes, Davos runs a hand over his face. He wasn’t a young knight anymore, jumping at a moment’s notice to do everything on a whim. “I will be your advisor, and support you.” He looks her in the eyes, making sure she understands the next part. “But my first duty is and always will be to make sure you are safe.” 

Breathing evenly, Sansa soaks in his words. “I value your honesty Ser Davos. It’s not such a common thing to hear anymore.” She unclenches her hands, not realizing she had been holding them so tightly. “I believe we have come to an understanding then.” 

“It seems we have.” Thinking for a moment, Ser Davos remembers the question that has been pondering his mind since he first followed the fierce red wolf. “If I may, ask you something then?” 

Sansa fondly smiles. “I couldn’t stop you if I tried.” 

“Yes well..” a small laugh escapes his mouth, “how do you plan on convincing this Queen to help us?” 

“It won’t be easy.” Sansa replies. She had been running strategies in her mind since she first decided she would be the one to have to treat with the Targaryen Queen. “But I believe that I can win her favor by simply asking for it.” 

When she doesn’t continue, Ser Davos just blinks at her. “That’s it?” He asks. There had to be more than that. “You’re just going to ask her to fight with us and hope she agrees?” 

“Yes.” 

Rising from where he sat, Davos begins to pace, up and down the railing. It wasn’t doing much to keep his growing anger at bay though. “Did it occur to you that she might just say no? What will you do then?” 

Following his movements, Sansa stays seated. “She won’t. She can’t.” 

Suddenly stopping, he whirls back to face her. “You don’t know that. You can’t possibly.” 

“I won’t let her then.” It was Sansa’s turn to get angry now. “Do you honestly believe I haven’t thought this through? That I haven’t imagined she would say no to my plea?”

Davos stares at her for a beat and then returns to pacing. He can’t even voice his words knowing they’ll only lead to them having a falling out. 

“Ser Davos,” When he ignores her, Sansa rolls her eyes, so fast, it almost hurts. “Would you stop pacing and look at me?” He does. “I know she won’t say no because I won’t let her.” She holds up a hand when he goes to speak. “Please, sit down and let me explain.”

He sits. And waits. 

Sighing, Sansa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I did think there might be a possibility that Daenarys will say no to me. At first.” Folding her hands again, Sansa eyes her advisor questionly. “We both know that I have nothing to offer her. I did not come all this way to give away a kingdom I do not rightfully have a claim to.” She watches as Davos looks down, knowingly thinking the same thing she was. “Daenerys Targaryen will see this the moment we set foot in front of her.” 

“Which is why I knew it had to be me who went.” He glances up at her words. That was not what he had been expecting her to say. “We both know that if Jon had come, he would have given up his crown, without thinking, if it meant the North would be safe.” Davos grunts in agreement. “But I won’t. Because I can’t.” 

“So if you know all of this, how do you plan on gaining her as an ally?” He asks, not fully convinced she could. 

“By making her see reason.” Sansa replies. “And Gods help us, if for some reason I can’t, then nothing will have been lost.” 

“I wouldn’t say nothing.” They both know what he means. Sansa appreciates in the moment that he doesn’t voice it. Sliding past the notion, he asked, “Do you know exactly how you will do this?”

“Well,” she starts, picking at the fabric of her dress, “I won’t know that until I actually speak with the woman. But I know once I do talk with her, I’ll find a way to convince her. If not to offer us aid, maybe just supplies? The dragon glass.” 

Crossing his arms again, Davos leans against the hardwood. He doesn’t like the idea of putting all their hope into something this unorganized or not strategized fully. But he knew that Sansa wouldn’t do something this reckless if she didn’t truly believe the outcome would be great. At least he hopes not. 

“Then here is to hoping that you will be able to think of something good on the spot.” He says. 

“I will.” Sansa offers him a slight smirk. “Don’t you know? I can be quite charming at times.” 

That makes him laugh. “I don’t doubt it for a moment.” 

Sansa’s smile softens, her eyes are not so piercing, but more...uncertain. She looked almost younger than she seemed. Not yet hurt by the cruelties she has overcome. “You’ll be behind me in this?” 

“Of course.” Davos gruffs, his own face mirroring hers. “Always. I swear it.” 

They sit there in silence for the rest of their time. Admiring the view, and enjoying the quiet calm of the night around them. It would be one of the last moments of peace they would have for a while. 

**********

Walking through the castle felt much different from when she was young. Before, it was always full of life. Maidens bustling around, trying to get through the steady list of things needed to be done that day. Or her siblings, running around, trying either to chase each other or make it in time for their lessons. 

If she tried hard enough, Arya could almost see their past selves, running in the corridor she was walking through. The smiles and laughter or the annoyance of whoever was with them, filling her ears. If she could, she would stop them, and warn them of the dangers creeping upon them, waiting to rip them apart, one by one. She would beg them to be cautious, to be wary, to be careful. She would tell them to take in the moments they had, never forget them. To always cherish them. 

The memories vanish as quickly as they come, leaving Arya to herself again. It filled her with a sort of sorrow, seeing how everything turned out. The halls were quiet now, the only sound being the occasional passerby, greeting her before moving on. If there was anything she missed more since coming home, it would be the noise and chaos from before. The simple kind. The kind that didn’t get everyone she loved killed. 

Rounding a corner, Arya stops and waits. Even without her training, she knew well enough to know when she was being followed. The past few days, she had felt the presence of the person watching her, day by day, their eyes always trained on her no matter what she did. Whether she was training in the courtyard or at meals, seated near her brothers, Arya always felt the crawling sensation that she was gaining someone’s attention. And she didn’t like it. 

It didn’t take long for the person behind her to catch up, their footsteps making it obvious that they were close. Sure enough, to Arya’s correct assumption, Lord Baelish rounded the corner, halting his steps as he almost collided with her. 

“Ah, Lady Arya,” he quickly recovers, “by chance it seems that we are crossing paths.” 

He clasped his hands behind himself, a sneering smile etched skillfully onto his face. They both knew it was no coincidence that he found her wandering the halls. Arya had made sure of it. 

Smiling right back, she mirrors his actions. “It is.” She inclined her head, continuing her walk, encouraging him to join her. “Tell me, Lord Baelish, is it?” He nods his affirmation, intently listening. “When did you think it would be appropriate to speak with me after having observed every action of mine for the past few days?” 

The look that passed over his face gives Arya a sense of glee, knowing she has taken away his advantage. 

He softly chuckles. “It seems my presence isn’t as overlooked as I had previously assumed.” 

“No, it isn’t.” She chides. 

They continue walking down the corridor. It wasn’t far from the next gateway. Arya took her time though, wanting to hear what the man had so eagerly to say. 

“If I may,” He starts, hand moving to his chest, “I want to apologize for my manners. It didn’t seem appropriate to approach you so early after returning home.” Sliding his arm back behind him, he tilts his head to the side. “And what with your brother following just behind you, I thought it best to...keep my distance for the time being. Until you all had a chance to adjust to the new changes.”

An earnest look gleams in his eye as he glances towards Arya. “Or really, return to old routines, that is.” Arya glances to the side, holding his eyes. “It must be quite difficult, seeing what’s left of your family after such trivial circumstances.” As they come around another corner, Littlefinger hangs his head low, looking at his feet as he says, “Coming from a lonely childhood, I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be one of the last surviving members of your family.” 

Tensing up, Arya can’t help but remember the ones she has lost. Her father, her mother, Robb and now Rickon. Looking back at the man, her brows furrow, as she looks to the back of her mind. “There are no words for it, my Lord.” Slowly, she comes to a stop, Petyr amply doing so as well. “Forgive me, but, have we ever met before?” 

Giving her a smile that didn’t quite sit right with his face, Baelish nods his head. “We have. Once before, and a time after that as well. In King’s Landing.” He looks her up and down. “It was such a long time ago, I had doubts that you would remember me. You were very young then. I worked alongside your father.”

It hits Arya then, how she knew the man before her. “On the King’s council. I remember.” Looking away, she glances down the empty hall, seeing the next turn not far away. She set her attention back to Lord Baelish. “We never spoke before,” she says, “I only saw you in passing, when my father would leave for meetings.” 

Littlefinger hums, shuffling his feet a bit. “I was there. That day.” Arya’s ears perk, knowing exactly what day he means. 

“I was as well.” She replies, the roaring of the crowd in her ears, riled up, demanding the death of her father. Cheering as they were given what they wanted. “I didn’t see it, but I was there.” Her arms slowly lower back to her sides, aching from being clasped too tightly behind her for so long. “It was the last time I saw him. And my sister.”

“Of course.” He says. “I thought it quite unfortunate how Sansa was unable to plead with Cersei to spare your father.” 

He has her full attention at the sound of that evil bitch’s name. 

“What do you mean?” Arya didn’t remember Sansa pleading. All she saw was her standing at the very top, next to the royal family, her new family, in her pretty dress, her hair so elegantly twisted that day. Elegant on the day their father met his end. 

“Oh yes,” Lord Baelish continues, slowly starting their walk again, not failing to notice that Arya is the one following him now. “Our poor Sansa,” he has his hand on his chest again, “she did everything she could to help dear Ned. Even so far as to…” he trails off. 

“As far as to what?” Arya was growing tired of his walking around the point. 

“As far as I know, she wrote your eldest brother, Robb.” He nonchalantly says. “On behalf of the Lannisters.”

“No,” Arya states. Even with her blood running hot and cold at the same time, she knows that never would have happened. “Sansa would have never done that. Not after those traitorous lions accused our father of treason and imprisoned him.”

The way Littefinger is looking down at her, Arya feels younger than she thought possible. Like how she did that horrible day. 

“She did. But even then, it didn’t work.” He gets a far-away look in his eye. “Sansa stayed in the capital after that.”

Arya decided two things then: that for all it was worth, she hated the way this man said her wretched sister’s name and that there was no way he could possibly have been telling the truth. At least she didn’t think he was. Arya didn’t know what game he was playing here, but she didn’t like it. 

Stopping again, Arya faces Petyr head on. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because, I know that your brother never would have.” 

At the mention of more members of her family, Arya clenches her teeth. “What does Jon have anything to do with this?” 

Glancing side to side, seemingly making sure no one was eavesdropping on them, Petyr leans closer to Arya. “He has everything to do with it.” Leaning back, he casually walks to a nearby upholstery, running his hand down the fringe on the side. “A lot has changed in the last few years, my Lady. As have your siblings.” Glancing back at her, it’s like he can see right through her. “You, yourself must have experienced things that made you different from who you were in the past.” 

The mere sentence makes Arya repress a shiver. Ever since she left Braavos to come home, she fought against the way the faceless men had made her. Even after she gave into their training a few times. Being home, made her want to leave it all behind.

“Everyone changes through time.” She says. It was true. Maybe not in the same way, but no one stayed the same of course. 

“I completely agree with you,” Lord Baelish says, nodding his head, moving again. Did he ever stay still? “Though, now that you’re back, I’m afraid that the change you see in your siblings might not be what you expected. They may not be who you thought they were.” Stopping finally, he sighs as he looks down at Arya. “I offer my advice to you, Lady Arya, to be cautious of what is happening in front of you.” 

“And what is it that is happening in front of me?” Arya balls her hands at the notion he is insinuating, that she won’t be wary of everything around her. She has been since she could last remember. 

He answers her question with one of his own. “If I wasn’t speaking with you now, do you believe your brother would tell you any of this?”

“Of course he would.” She replies. Jon wouldn’t keep anything from her. 

“Even if it meant betraying your sister’s trust?” When she doesn’t answer, Baelish begins to walk away again, Arya behind him, his voice carrying over his shoulder. “You weren’t here yet, but if you had seen them, you would see how deep their bond has grown. The King trusts Sansa very much.” Looking behind him, his eye meets hers. “More than I’ve seen anyone trust another.” Littlefinger turns his head away from Arya’s keen gaze, a smirk gracing his lips. “It’s quite endearing actually.” 

Arya almost snorts. She finds that hard to believe. Growing up, neither of her siblings would have stepped within feet of each other, let alone the same room together. To think they found common ground after all they endured, seemed...doubtful. 

“I highly doubt that.” Her pace falling even with his again, Arya considers just leaving the man behind, ending the conversation here. She had grown irritated of the lies spewing from his mouth. 

“It’s highly possible, Arya,” The way he informally uses her name makes her blood boil. “It’s very likely that your brother might even feel indebted to Sansa. Without her, he wouldn’t have become King in the North.” 

“Your dear sister helped sway the masses, earning him his crown.” He looks to the side. “She gave him something he believed he would never have before. A place in the North, where he could be accepted.” 

Arya stumbles, righting herself before it was noticeable. She knew Jon had never felt like he belonged before. It was why he had left with their uncle. But she also knew Jon. Or at least she thinks she does. Would he really cast aside all his doubt and trust Sansa just because she made him feel accepted by being a King?

Jon did tell her they weren’t the same as before. And here was this insufferable man telling her the very same thing.

“Answer me this, Lord Baelish,” she enunciates his title, making him look at her, “where is it that you fit into all of this? What do you get from speaking with me about it all?”

“Why, nothing.” He looks down, no longer willing to meet her piercing eyes. If anything, her and her sister did share that in common. “My whole life, I have been a dutiful servant to the Stark family. Before that, the Tully’s, like your mother Catelyn.”

“I care for each of you as if you were my own family. It’s why I risked everything I had to help Sansa escape the Lannister’s.” He looks up, down the hall. “Even when I believed it was too late.” 

“You helped her?” She knew Sansa had gotten out somehow, she just didn’t know how. 

“I did.” Beady eyes find hers again. “I would have done anything if it meant she were safe. I even had those who helped look for you. But later, we had to assume you were just gone.” 

A dark, humorless chuckle escapes him. “I even thought I could help Sansa win back the North. If not by force, then maybe marriage. Give her home back to her.” Even though his face spoke of regret, the twisting feeling in Arya’s gut made her assume differently. “It was one of my biggest regrets, seeing how it ended badly.” 

Stopping, Arya waits until Littlefinger realizes she is no longer walking. “It was you that set her up with the Boltons..?” 

He nods. 

Arya feels herself slipping. Back into her training. Back to feeling nothing. All she could feel besides the nothing was the anger slowly building. 

“If it weren’t for your brother, with my help of course, we never would have taken back Winterfell.” She barely bears the words over her concentrating on not resorting back to who she was. “I believe that’s the reason she did it.”

Arya pauses. 

“Did what?” 

“Found a way to ensure that Jon,” The way he says her brother's name doesn’t sit right with her, “would become King. I assume Sansa felt as if she owed him for rescuing her. That in doing so, there was a price to be given.” 

“Jon wouldn’t do that.” Arya grits out. “If you knew my family as you claim to, then you know he would never, ever, do something like that.” 

Exhaling, Petyr almost laughs at her. Almost. “Your brother isn’t who he says he is, my Lady. Seeing reason is almost beyond him.”

She had him. 

“You realize that what you are saying counts for treason?” Arya asks, stepping closer to him, as he did her before. A small smile forms at the edges of her mouth, one that makes him squirm. “And you remember well of how we deal with treason in the North.”

“I do,” He audibly gulps. “Lady Arya,” he says, switching back to formalities, “I doubt that you haven’t noticed the King wants nothing to do with me. Which is why I came to you. If the King can listen to one sister, then by chance he would listen to the other.”

“What is it you believe I can say that he needs to listen to?” 

“Think of what I have told you. And you’ll understand..” Looking to his left, Baelish sees the door is just near them, feet away. They had gotten there sooner than he anticipated. “Heed my advice to be cautious. Nothing is as it seems until you really look at it.” 

Making his escape, Littlefinger turns halfway through the entrance. “If I may add, I do find it reassuring that you made it back home, Lady Arya. I hope our conversation today won’t hinder us from speaking again.” 

With that, he left, leaving Arya standing in the empty hall, confused and angry at what had just happened. Everything he said didn’t make sense. And yet it did. Since coming home, she noticed the difference. She had assumed it was because of what Jon had told her. But now, she can’t help but wonder what if that were really true. 

Shaking her head, Arya does her best to expel the words that the wretched man said. Going through the door, she stops mid turn. Maybe…

No. She couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to Jon or Sansa. Even though she didn’t entirely know Sansa as Jon did now, she trusted his judgement. 

Taking a few steps down the corridor that made its way towards the courtyard, Arya grunts in frustration. Swiftly turning, she made her way down a different corridor. She had to know the truth. 

**********

**Author's Note:**

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